


Listen to Your Heart

by Kayasurin



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bunny is a troll, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous use of Aussie slang, M/M, Misunderstandings, Singing, Some depression, but it all works out in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayasurin/pseuds/Kayasurin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humans have a Name on their wrist. Pooka's have a Song in their hearts. Jack Frost can't read his Name; Bunnymund has only been hearing a Song for the last three hundred years. It doesn't help that they've been getting closer to each other, when both Name and Song say there's someone else out there for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It'd been a millennium since the Great Song had gone silent, as this world measured time. Bunnymund could still remember it, the intricate harmonies, the melodies, the solos and duets and the weaving notes that could've brought tears to a stone. And had, the few- _very_ few- times one of the shamans had granted the gift of the Song to an outsider. Only those whose souls had been too broken to mend without interference, and no one had grudged those individuals a few minutes listening to the most personal, intimate part of a Pooka's nature.

Because each and every Song that made up the Great Song _was_ a Pooka, heart, mind, and soul. Every Pooka born could hear the Great Song. If they were lucky, from the first moment where they opened their eyes and uncurled their ears, they would be able to hear the Song that would one day turn their solo into a duet.

E. Aster Bunnymund hadn't been that lucky. He'd always known his parents, and his siblings, but not his Heartsong, his mate-to-be. There had only been silence, holes in his Song and soul.

"Mamma, _when_?" he'd asked. He'd have been- young, then, he couldn't remember now just how young. Still at an age when his parents had been infallible, and could set everything right with a word or a touch.

"It will happen, my own." She'd picked him up, and cuddled him close. "I waited for your father. You will simply have to follow in my footsteps."

He'd nodded, and listened to his mother's heartbeat until the disappointment ebbed. After a while, he'd come to accept the inevitability. His Heartsong was simply taking their time being born, and there would be no hurrying them. Until they were born, and adult, he'd just have to... wait.

So he'd learnt patience, and, in the fullness of time, entered a warrior's training. He'd left his parents' burrow, and gone to the _Agoge_ with the others his age.

There they'd learnt what it meant to be a warrior of their species: proud of their achievements, humble of their strengths, able to fight a running battle for three days on little food and no sleep, able to act the part of the diplomat without flaw, and with a mastery in at least one of the arts- music, poetry, dancing, sculpting... The list was endless, and the cadet who refused to learn the 'soft' skills was thrown out of the _Agoge_.

It was in the _Agoge_ that Aster had learnt how different he was from everyone else. All his peers could hear their Heart's Mate, and he was the only one out of all the cadets still waiting for their Heartsong to be born. He had been treated well, by his teachers and the other cadets. In hindsight, he'd only imagined the faint hint of pity, disdain, but at the time it had felt as real as the ground beneath his feet and the sun on his fur. He had pushed himself, not only to master fighting, but to learn everything there was about painting, sculpting, and mastered several instruments as well as the art of composition.

Eventually, he had graduated from training, and was sent out into the universe. He'd had his adventures, fought the Nightmares and the Fearlings and the Star Pirates. He'd met heroes, and been accused of being one himself. And all the time, he'd waited.

His tour of duty had ended, and he had gone home. Back to the Pooka's world- a world he could barely remember anything about, now. Even the name was lost to him- to dig his own burrow, practice the art of a scholar instead of a warrior, and wait.

He'd waited so _long_.

Aster had watched as friends, siblings, peers, all found their Heartsong and paired off and had kits, and all the while he'd heard only silence when he'd listened. Silence, and the holes in his Song.

Then the Nightmares, the Fearlings, had broken out of their prison. Aster hadn't known at first- _no one_ had known, at first- that they were being led by General Pitchner. And when he'd found out, it'd been a blow.

Worse had been hearing the Great Song become ragged, as Pooka warrior after Pooka warrior was killed. Aster had almost joined their number, near the end; he'd wanted to _kill_ the battlefield doctor that'd saved him. His people were dying- were _dead_ \- and he'd never heard the Song of his other half, and the whole Universe might as well have collapsed. He hadn't wanted to live, because with all the Pooka dead, his chance of ever so much as _hearing_ his Heartsong was gone. He could hear the truth, never mind the inevitable reports.

E. Aster Bunnymund was the last Pooka. Ever.

It was all Pitchner's fault. If the man hadn't fallen to the Dark, the Pooka would still be alive.

He'd let himself be consumed by the need for vengeance, until Earth. By that point, with Pitch neutralized and the Moon Himself asking Bunnymund to guard the human children, he'd been ready to stop.

So he'd- not given up, Pooka warriors didn't _give up_ \- but he'd accepted the status quo. Pitch couldn't be killed, he'd done something to tie himself to the humans' fear. Didn't mean he couldn't be locked up, and he had been. Oh, he'd gotten out now and again, but Bunnymund had been there to punt him back into the darkness.

At some point, he didn't remember exactly when, the humans had gotten it into their heads that he was something called 'the Easter Bunny', and it'd made the kiddies so happy to get one of his painted eggs...

The Moon had tied him to their belief, to their hope, and he hadn't noticed for years. Decades, maybe even centuries. It was just... one morning, he'd gone out to get his eggs hidden for the kids, and an adult had walked through him. If the kids hadn't still been able to see him, touch him, he'd have thought himself a ghost.

He'd made his home in Australia, where the native language was the closest to his own that he could find. He'd dug his tunnels, done a few tricks on the plants in his warren, met Sanderson Mansnoozie, Toothiana, Nicholas St. North, and somehow ended up conned into a little boy's clubhouse dedicated to guarding the children of Earth.

Okay, so the clubhouse had its points. Pitch kept learning new tricks, and the one time Bunnymund had failed at knocking the deranged Nightmare King down, the others had swept in to help out. It'd worked, so he'd stopped moping, started helping them out too.

Though, for the life of him, he just could not understand North's obsession with Christmas. Sure, the prezzies were nice and all, but Bunnymund set his goggies out as close to the old New Year as he  
could get. Where the religion thing had come into the picture, he couldn't figure; must have happened when he'd been sleepwalking through life.

He'd muddled along like that for a while. Long enough for his influence to spread beyond Europe, anyways.

It'd been early on in the seventeenth century that he'd heard it. The Song.

His Heartsong, the one that filled in all the holes he'd been born with, the holes that his life had given him...

Oh, it was new. He'd first heard it only a few days old. And it was so, so simple, but then, babies were. Even simple and new, it was bright, and cheerful, and so _beautiful_.

He had no shame in admitting it, but he'd broken down and cried that day. Listening to the song, where it fit in with his own, he'd just bawled his eyes out from sheer relief, and joy.

He might have been the last Pooka, but he wasn't alone. He just... wasn't _alone_ anymore.

Aster had wanted to go charging after the Song, but a few things stopped him. One- baby. Probably a human baby. What, was he supposed to kidnap an infant? No. He'd waited this long, he'd wait at least until the kid was old enough to have a Name on their wrist, just like every other human he'd seen. Two- he had his duties, and it was almost Easter. These days he was so tied to the belief kids had in him, he didn't know what would happen if it failed. Three- the other Guardians. Oh, he could just hear them, their protests and accusations and... He'd put up with it after he'd properly courted his Heartsong. The last reason, the fourth reason, he almost didn't acknowledge.

Because he was afraid. It'd been so long, and thinking on it, his Heartsong was most likely human. And humans were very short lived.

They had only a small handful of decades to their lives, and growing up faced dangers that made his fur stand on end. If he went and got attached, and his Heartsong died before he could tie their lifeforce together, make a proper bonding of it...

It'd break him. Never mind the intimacy required for a bonding of souls and lifeforce, he just... couldn't lose them.

So he'd wait. He knew the general area, and people this day and age all sung, in church if nowhere else. He'd head over there, take a listen, then... Well, he'd figure out how to properly court a human then. Having his name on his Heartsong's wrist could only help.

Only... then the Song... stopped.

Aster woke to the Moon, and at first was furious. How dare that drongo larrikin1  save him like that? Save him for _what_? Oh, the bloke had done a good job, for being distant and all- couldn't even see blood where Aster had stabbed himself, and the hole was good and closed over, _dammit all_ \- but he hadn't wanted to be saved!

He'd have kept on with that line, except... The Song started up again. A little different, a little stronger, but that only made it fit the holes in his own Song better. The Song was... Older wasn't the right word. More mature.

And oh, by all the stars in the sky, lonely. The Song hadn't been lonely before. Happy, growing, bouncy, but not _lonely_.

"Manny?" he'd asked, clutching at the grass.

The Moon hadn't responded, but then, he rarely did. Aster hadn't figured he would this time, either; Manny was a big fan of "figure it out yourself" when it came to the spirits and Guardians he watched.

Aster threw the knife he'd used into the River of Coloring that morning.

Granted, a couple days later he fished it out and managed to turn himself a fetching shade of fuchsia, but he _needed_ that knife. Crocodiles didn't respect a bloke if they didn't have something sharp and pointy telling them why they should.

He listened to the Song get more and more lonely as the years went by, and after a century, realized what it meant.

His Heartsong had _died_ , only... the Moon had brought them back. Not for Bunnymund; not even for the last Pooka would Manny break the rules. So the spirit, his Heartsong, now had some role to play for this world. A seasonal spirit, maybe. If people didn't believe in _that specific spirit_ in question, they couldn't see it. Most minor spirits hadn't existed before Manny took some shapeless belief and formed them proper, and those spirits that _had_ lived before, generally didn't die to join the ranks.

Aster had to find them, his Heartsong.

Only his Heartsong apparently had a _thing_ for wandering.

He hadn't traveled this much even as a young soldier in the ranks! He was always a step or two behind, scrambling to catch up. And there were places he couldn't go. He needed land for his tunnels, and when his Heartsong spent a year or two out over the ocean, all he could do was stand on the nearest shore and wait.

It didn't help that he _still_ had his duties. It didn't help that his Heartsong's call just kept getting bleaker and bleaker, loneliness and sorrow and heartrending grief. It didn't help that North kept complaining about the winter storms always springing up just before Christmas; if Aster had to hear That Story about the reindeer with the glowing nose _one more time_...

Then Easter Sunday of '68 happened. He regretted it, a little, a few years down the road, but at the time he'd been pretty het about the collar. His Heartsong's depression was at the worst it'd been in decades, he'd managed to wreck about a third of his goggies from worrying, making the numbers pretty thin- children would only be getting one or two eggs each this year, instead of the basketful he'd intended- and this bloody _idjit_ winter sprite had gone and called a blizzard down Sunday evening!

It hadn't been the best meeting in the world. The sprite had looked like a teenager, and he'd spouted some babble about 'helping' but the way he'd kept shifting around, tugging at his stupid sweater, fiddling with his hair, not looking Aster in the eye, well... Aster could smell a lie at fifty paces, and this sprite was lying.

He hadn't even known the sprite's name until a few years later. Jack Frost.

The only good thing to come of the encounter was, strangely, a slight upswing in his Heartsong's call. Not happy, but determined.

After that, Aster did his best to stay away from Jack Frost, who'd made it a habit to be as annoying as possible. North was happy; Frost's version of being annoying meant there was always a white Christmas, at least in the regions where it was supposed to snow. Tooth, well, as long as the sprite kept his teeth sparkling white, she would have forgiven him anything. Sandy's work couldn't be stopped by anything.

So no, it was only Aster, and a bunch of minor spirits, that ended up taking the brunt of Frost's mischief. It could've been worse, but Frost seemed to have learnt his lesson about blizzards and Important Days, so Aster didn't do his block2 with the sprite. Much.

Then Pitch had broken out, again, and this time they needed a fifth Guardian. Frost. Of all the bloody- but Aster had gone along with it, because arguing with the Moon was kind of like trying to dig to the center of the earth. With your face. All you got for your trouble was a headache, and looked stupid doing it too.

The entire time- three days, four nights- had been such a whirlwind it took him some time after to sort everything out. Frost had been dragged to the North Pole, pitched a fit at being told he was a Guardian now- Aster hadn't been surprised, Frost wasn't the joining type- and then they'd gone to the Tooth Fairy Palace to rescue the teeth.

Oy, teeth. Tooth's job was important, but teeth? Right proper place for a set of chompers was in someone's mouth, not collected all pretty in a box and shelved alphabetically by last name. The flying had been just as dreadful as he'd figured. He'd never really had a head for heights, or heights combined with speed. One of the reasons he'd always avoided transforming into a flying shape, and the only class he'd ever failed in the _Agoge_.

They'd lost to Pitch, lost Sandy, and the grief in his Heartsong's call was only matched by the grief in his soul.

They'd rallied, for Easter, but Frost had mucked around, Aster's goggies had been all smashed, and the kids hadn't seen him. They'd gone right through him.

Frost had arrived just in time to see Aster brought low, and if he hadn't buggered off immediately after, Aster would've jobbed3 him.

Things had gotten worse- but then Frost had somehow saved the last kid's belief. Somehow Aster had been mixed up in the whole thing. The story had been a bit garbled, but apparently Frost had some kind of illusion ability, and when the kid had been asking for proof of the Easter Bunny's existence, well... one illusionary rabbit, coming right up.

The kids had rallied themselves, and fought back at Pitch. Somehow that'd brought Sandy back, or maybe he'd never been really gone, just weakened to invisibility.

After it all, they'd gone back to Santoff Clausen, the North Pole, to bask in their success, congratulate Frost on finally stepping up to the plate, and recover from the entire experience.

And if Aster was basking in more than just success, if he was enjoying the sudden upswing of _joy_ his Heartsong was singing, well... He was the only one who knew about it.

* * *

Jack can't remember ever thinking much about the name on his wrist.

Everyone knew about soul mates; you'd have to be an alien to be ignorant. Okay, three hundred years ago, they'd used 'savage' instead of 'alien', but the sentiment had been the same. A soul mate was the person who completed you; that propped you up when you needed it; that you propped up when they needed it. It wasn't always love; some people just didn't have it in them for romantic feelings. Friendship was always a part of it. Jack couldn't remember anyone being better friends than his Ma and Pa, and that friendship had been the foundation for their love.

Everyone also knew about the writing on a person's wrist. Their non-dominant hand, usually the left. It was always a name, _the_ Name, like a signature. Once you matched the Name and handwriting, you generally got to know each other. It was accepted, after the meeting, that you were considered engaged.

Sometimes one side or the other died before they could meet, and then the surviving partner would wake up and there'd just be blank skin where there'd been black ink.

Jack's always kept his wrist covered. When he'd first woke up, first day out from under the ice, he'd known about the Name. The Name on his wrist looked like a cross between a child's first enthusiastic scribbles, and what he'd later learn was Norse Runes, mixed with a touch of- were those _flowers_? Unique, and also a bit disheartening.

At the time, that first century, after he'd realized no one could see him, or hear him, or touch him, he'd figured he was a ghost. The writing on his wrist was messed up because he'd died; he'd been under the ice and couldn't remember anything, sounded like a ghost to him. Someone somewhere was walking around with a blank wrist, and it was his fault, and he couldn't even read their Name so he could find them and apologize. Had to be why he was still around, why he had an unreadable Name. If he found them, apologized, then he'd be able to move on.

Maybe they'd join him, after, whoever they were.

Only a century had passed, and he was one, still around and two, still had a Name on his wrist. His first theory went out the proverbial window.

He figured, after thinking about it, the Name belonged to one of the spirits he kept seeing. Little things, for the most part. Not the brightest bunch, honestly. The smartest were humanoid, but the only ones that talked to him were all winter spirits, and Jack eventually discovered that when it came to winter spirits, nasty was the name of the game. Or, you know, dead. Or both, like the Wendigo.

Jack had eventually pieced things together, enough to know about the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Sandman, Santa Clause, and the minor spirits like Cupid, and the Groundhog (when'd _that_ start? For that matter, _why_?), and a few other season-only spirits.

He traveled a lot, because for all he knew, the spirit he was looking for was on the other side of the world. The minor spirits never really remembered him from one year to the next, and as for the Big Four, well... He only knew where Santa lived, and the yeti kept catching him before he could talk to the big guy.

It was hard to keep his spirits up, considering. He tried, but, well, no one remembered him, no one answered his questions, the Moon was there but utterly silent...

Jack decided he'd ask the Easter Bunny. Granted, no one could tell him where the guy lived, but Jack did know one place the rabbit absolutely would be. Easter Sunday was when he got his egg-things all set up, so Jack would just have to sprinkle a bit of snow to get his attention.

He kind of overdid it.

By a lot.

The Easter Bunny wasn't anything like he'd expected. Tall, humanoid, _angry_... Yeah. Granted, he had a reason for that last bit, the blizzard _had_ gotten away from Jack, and the snow _was_ knee high on the rabbit, but still!

It was at the end of that decade- '69, a year after the Easter Sunday accident- that he noticed the latest fad when it came to Names.

The younger generation was covering them up. Sometimes tattooing completely over them, so they couldn't be seen. Far as Jack could figure, the kids (they were older than he was, but he found himself thinking of them as kids) were rebelling against what they saw as an oppressive force, _making_ them love a complete stranger.

He could've told them that was stupid, but then, his Name was... what it was. Unreadable. More annoyance than it was worth, he'd spent two centuries just trying to figure out who it belonged to, and getting nowhere.

The fad didn't last, but it'd given Jack an idea. Somewhere in the eighties, early or late, he figured out how to cover his arms with a layer of hoar frost thick enough to hide the Name. Both arms, because covering only one took too much concentration. After a while, it didn't take much of any concentration, he'd done it so long. The frost looked natural on his skin, and between that and his hoodie, there wasn't any chance of anyone seeing the Name.

Then came the whole Guardian incident. Shoved in a sack and tossed through a portal, told he was suddenly one of the Great Administrators of Childhood... Yeah, no. At least the kangaroo had the right idea; Jack was not Guardian material.

He proved it too, didn't he? Failed to save Sandy, and never mind the man resurrected himself later on. Failed to help save Easter, got distracted and had to deal with freaking Pitch... pitching woo.

At least he'd managed to do one thing right, save Jamie's belief and help the kids deal with the nightmares. And hey, the Guardians had recovered, even if they'd had a bit of a day. Bunny wasn't itty-bitty anymore, North didn't move like an old man, Tooth could fly again and Sandy was back.

Somehow, caught up in the rush of emotion, he'd agreed to be a Guardian, taken the oath, and let himself be dragged back to the North Pole. He had managed to escape the chair of honor, though, that had gone to Sandy. And thank goodness. Jack could stand the heat, but there was a difference between a summer's day (after he'd acclimatized to the temperature) and sitting next to a roaring fire. Even a good couple feet away he was getting a bit warm.

A bit too warm, actually. Jack sighed, and rolled up his sleeves. Any warmer and he'd start melting.

North paused in telling Sandy all about the last couple of days. "Jack?" he asked.

"Nothing, I'm good." Better every time he heard one of the Guardians say his name. If there was one thing that had absolutely _sucked_ about not being believed in, it was forgetting what his own name sounded like.

"You are certain?" North looked down at Jack's arms, bare to the elbow, and then... didn't look back up.

Jack looked down himself, and frowned. Then he figured it out; North couldn't see the Name, so it looked like Jack didn't have one. Granted, neither did Sandy, or Tooth, or Bunny, but they weren't human.

Jack looked back up and shrugged. Everyone was staring now, with varying degrees of pity. Well, he'd take their pity. Better than being ignored; better than a Name he couldn't figure out, and didn't care about any more.

"Ah, right," North said, then turned back to Sandy. But he kept sneaking looks back at Jack, like he knew what subtlety was.

For the record? He didn't.

Jack didn't mind. So what if he couldn't figure out his Name? He'd rather have friends than an absent soul mate, any day.

* * *

1- Drongo larrikin: drongo means stupid person, larrikin means a rowdy, irresponsible person.

2- Do his block/Doing your block: getting very angry, losing your head.

3- Jobbed/I will job you- hit or punch/I will hit you/punch you.

All slang gathered from alldownunder.com. Hopefully I've used it correctly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, ladies and gentlemen. I'd been holding off on writing for this fandom for a while, until I got bit by a prompt on the ROTG kink meme. This prompt, to be exact --> http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2200.html?thread=3177112#cmt3177112
> 
> I'm sorry, if I could do that hyperlink, I would, but I don't know how.
> 
> So- quick note about the Aussie slang. I'm not Australian, I'm Canadian. I'll do my best, but I'm going to err on the side of caution here folks. And I'm not writing out that accent, I will kill my spellchecker trying to do that.
> 
> Also, I haven't read the books- they're not available at my local library, and I have no money to buy them- so I have absolutely no clue about Bunny's actual history. Ergo, I've taken liberties. This is AU already, we'll just slap the Further AU tag on it, okay?
> 
> By the by? I don't own the Guardians. Now I be sad.


	2. Chapter One

Aster stretched out his legs, and cradled his mug of cocoa in both hands. Now that everything was calming down, he had a chance to sort his head out. He kept part of his attention on his Heartsong, basked in the joy and relief he heard in it. Well, there weren't many that'd be too happy about Pitch winning. Like as not, his Heartsong was celebrating, just like the Guardians were.

Pity North liked his fires roaring, though. Aster was a fan of the heat just like all sane people, but he was stuck in a fur coat. He hadn't started shedding out the winter layer yet, either, so he was a bit warm. He kept one eye on the Frostbite, because sure as anything, if Aster was uncomfortable, so was the Yank.

He paid a bit more attention when Frost rolled up his sleeves, curious despite himself. No Name, huh? Poor kid. Might explain why he was such a larrikin. Not having a soul mate was something awful. Maybe the mate had passed on, and Frost, being a spirit, hadn't gone with.

Aster shook his head and looked back at the fire. North was going over the past couple of days for Sandy, and had finally hit on Easter's fate.

Sandy sat bolt upright in his chair, a few squiggles of fast-changing sand pictures over his head.

"Sandy, Sandy, slow down. What you saying?"

The Sandman glared at North, then wagged one finger at him. He turned and pointed at Frost, an image of Pitch forming over his head. The wanker looked a bit different when made out of golden sand.

"Huh?" Frost ducked his head. "Oh. That."

"Yeah, that," Aster said, deciding it was time to add his two cents. Stars, he wanted to know why the kid had buggered off on them, too.

Frost's cheeks turned white with, well, frost. Must've been his form of blushing. "Well, I dropped Sophie off in her room, and when I left... I was going to head straight back, I swear!" He leaned forward a little in his chair. "But I heard my sister..."

Frost had a sister? "And then?" Aster asked, his voice a bit quieter than he'd meant to. Ah, what the heck, the kid had pulled through in the end, he could be nice.

Tooth held up one hand. "I already got the story from Baby Tooth." She smiled at Jack, somewhat sadly. "Sorry. Would you rather I...?"

"Yeah." The kid scraped his hair back from his face. Not that he had much of it, being human. He might've looked better with a bit more fuzz on him. "Though I don't know why it's important."

Sandy waved his hands, and formed an exclamation point over his head.

"Okay," Frost said. "It's important to you. Knock yourself out, Tooth."

Tooth fluffed out her feathers, and nodded. "According to Baby Tooth, you heard something, and followed it. She didn't hear anything..."

"Well, it was from my teeth, so she probably couldn't," Frost said.

Tooth looked over at Sandy. "Baby Tooth wasn't very clear, but she said that you, and her, ended up in Pitch's lair. He had my fairies locked in cages!"

North snorted, and Aster mimicked him. Typical Pitch move, trying to induce claustrophobia in a flying creature. Or flying creatures, in this case.

Frost shrugged one shoulder, and picked at one of his chair's arms. "I got the door open, but I guess they were too tired or something."

"They couldn't fly away," Tooth said quietly. She cuddled Baby Tooth, and chewed her lip. "And then Jack and Baby Tooth were separated."

"My bad. I kind of... Well, Pitch likes head games." Frost pulled out a box- his tooth box, Aster assumed- and then slipped it back into his hoodie pocket. "Honestly, it felt like fifteen minutes, but when I got back... It'd been all night."

That put a different slant on things. Not that it excused the galah1 any, but it did explain a bit. Maybe he could cut a few decades off how long Frost would be making up for not being there to fight the Nightmares.

Sandy leaned forward, catching everyone's attention. He made a 'get on with it' motion with his hands, no doubt eager to hear what came next.

"Easter was ruined," Aster told him, voice flat. "Got in a bit of a scuff with Frost."

Frost nodded. "I ended up in Antarctica, got found by Pitch. He pitched woo at me."

Pitched woo? North asked the question, though. "What do you mean?"

The winter sprite's face could've been used to define the word 'affront'. "I mean I got the feeling if I'd been a girl, he would've asked for my hand in marriage. It was just creepy."

Tooth squawked, and fluttered her wings. Aster thought about warning her the pot of cocoa was right close, near enough that if she moved just a few inches to the side she'd knock it off the end table, but decided not to bother. If it fell, the elves would have the place cleaned up before the crockery could stop rattling.

Baby Tooth escaped her leader's grip, and hovered in the air. Her little squeaks were just this side of painful to Aster's ears, and he couldn't decipher a word. Sometimes sensitive hearing had its downsides.

Dog whistles were cruel and unusual punishment, all he was saying.

"Baby Tooth says... he had her hostage?" Tooth asked, once she'd settled down.

"Yeah. Well, I told Pitch no way, and he went with plan two, Baby Tooth." Frost picked up his staff with his feet. He hadn't set it aside once, hanging onto it one way or the other since arriving in the North Pole. "Trade her for my staff. I did, he broke it, Baby Tooth encouraged me to see my memories, and that gave me enough to fix the damn thing."

He tapped a spot near the middle of his staff, where the ice covering it was shiny instead of roughened by handling and weathering. "Anyways, I found out about Jamie being the last kid to believe, and hurried back to Burgess. Didn't figure Pitch would let that go, and didn't want Jamie to stop believing either."

He shrugged, and gestured to North. "Back to you, big man."

North frowned, but nodded. "So, we saw the last light on the globe, and we traveled in the sleigh..."

Aster tuned the old Cossack out, in favor for relaxing every last muscle in his neck and shoulders. Yeah, he'd knock a few decades off the Frostbite's penance. Not that the kid knew he was going to be paying penance, but he didn't figure it'd be too hard a sell. Frost wore guilt like North wore that coat of his.

He looked up just in time to see Tooth start fluttering again. "-oh, I know I'm out of practice, but that right cross was _exactly_ textbook perfect, don't you agree?"

Sandy chuckled, and nodded.

Frost grinned, and then frowned down at the floor. "What the...?" He knelt down beside his chair, and sighed. "North, one of your elves is gnawing on the underside of this thing."

"Is looking for cookie crumbs. Might need slap upside head for sense." North stood up, but Frost waved him off.

"I got it... they don't bite, do they?"

"Only cookies, never hands."

"Awesome."

Tooth blinked at Frost, giggled, and clapped both hands over her mouth. Aster rolled his eyes. If Frost didn't have those pearly whites, Tooth wouldn't give him the time of day. She would, however, give him a toothbrush. Maybe some floss. And a couple hours of instruction on how to brush properly.

He'd never forget how horrified she'd looked, on discovering a Pooka's idea of dental care was chewing up some branches.

Tooth fluttered a bit, then turned to face Sandy again and started bouncing.

Somehow, Aster wasn't exactly clear, she managed to knock one wing against the end table beside her, just as Frost pulled back from the chair and knocked into the end table himself. Frost yelped, the table tipped over, and the pot of cocoa landed on the kid's head.

Upside down.

Frost's holler was more indignant than pained, but Aster still found himself kneeling by the brat's side.

"Frost! Shut your gob, it's only lukewarm." He set the empty pot back up on the table. Thankfully it hadn't broken, because the last thing they needed was shards of crockery everywhere. Other than North, the locals up here didn't wear shoes, and neither did most of the guests.

"Ow," Frost whined. He rubbed at his head, and then scowled at the chair. "North, you lied, the thing bit me!"

"Jack!" Tooth fluttered until she was hovering beside Aster's shoulder, crowding in. Aster immediately backed off. There was only so much space between the furniture, and as long as no one was gushing blood, he wasn't needed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry-"

"Not your fault-"

"-didn't mean to-"

"-all me, I'm very clumsy-"

"-you're not hurt, are you?"

"Actually, let's blame North."

"Me?" North stepped up and hauled Frost off the floor with one hand. "Bah, you are covered in the cocoa. Is shower for you, I think."

Frost looked like a bedraggled kitten. "Or I could do what I usually do, go roll around in the snow."

"Snow does not come with privacy. Or soap," North added.

Aster nodded. "Not a bad stink, but soap wouldn't be wrong."

"Hey..." Frost sniffed at his hoodie collar, not exactly difficult with how he was hanging there. "Okay, I do smell like old leaves..."

"So, we are decided, shower for you!" North grinned, and patted Tooth on one shoulder. "Elves will clean. Sit and enjoy, more cocoa will be brought out."

Then he strode off, bellowing for the yeti, Frost dangling in his grip.

Aster sat back down, and shrugged at Sandy. "Well, guess we don't have to worry about him using up all the hot water."

For some reason, the Sandman answered that with a bowl of soup. Filled with people?

"Yeah, mate, I'm not awake enough for this right now."

Sandy rolled his eyes, and turned back to Tooth.

* * *

North had the best bathroom _ever_.

The actual toilet part was closed off in its own tiny room. The _bath_ room was paneled in some kind of dark wood, either naturally that color, stained, or just dark with age. The lights were all shaped like little fruitcakes. Jack supposed it wasn't all that weird. This was North, after all.

There were fluffy rugs to keep bare feet off the tile floor, which was warm enough it probably had in floor heating.

"Ah, forgot. Do you want the floor off?" North reached over towards a switch, probably the controls for the heat. Jack just kept from giving himself a fist pump. He'd definitely called it.

"Nah, it's not that warm. Besides, mats." He wiggled free of his hoodie at last, and dropped down onto one of the aforementioned mats. It left him standing around in his shirtsleeves, but his hoodie was covered in lukewarm cocoa.

North folded the hoodie over one arm, and held his hand out to Jack. "And the rest."

"Eh?" The rest- "Oh no. No. My shirt and my pants are fine."

"Are covered in dirt." Well, yeah, but... "Will have yeti bring clean while these get washed."

Jack raked his fingers back through his hair, and made a face at the sticky feeling of drying cocoa. "Well... Alright. But a man's got to have his privacy, North! Out!"

North rolled his eyes, and muttered something in Russian. Either way, he closed the door behind him.

Jack sighed, and managed to strip without tearing the old fabric of his shirt, or his pants. He could've replaced them, like he'd replaced his old cloak, but it'd never felt right. Besides, they were still good. A bit stained, and his shirt was see through in places it was so worn, but still good.

He folded them up carefully, and then just as carefully set them outside the door, cracking it open just enough to fit his arm through. He kept a wary eye out for any of Tooth's fairies. Most of them were off collecting teeth, but Baby Tooth at least was still hanging around. You couldn't be too careful with girls. He didn't need his memories back to know _that_.

There were two choices, now, the bath or the shower. The bath was a huge thing, looking more like an outdoor hot tub than anything. Ten people could've fit in it with room to spare. Jack could've swum laps.

It was appealing, but... Well, with the whole memory of drowning thing, and having to wash his hair, maybe the shower was better.

Not that he was scared. He'd actually gone swimming a lot over the last few centuries, it being one way to wash off if he ever got dirty. Lakes and rivers worked pretty well, and no one wondered about a shower being turned on and off by "no one there" like at the campgrounds.

Besides, the shower was hardly a letdown when compared to the tub.

It was just as roomy as the tub, and tiled in- of course- red and green, with little gold and white candy canes. There was what looked like five showerheads, one directly overhead, for maximum exposure to the water. The temperature control looked fancy and electronic, nothing like the campground bathing facilities Jack had been using since he'd first discovered them.

After a bit of fiddling with the controls, he realized he could have the water gradually warm up. That was a relief. Just because he wasn't affected by the cold didn't mean he couldn't feel it. Hot springs weren't an option, since he needed a while to adjust to the warmer temperature, but this way he could start the water out ice cold and warm up.

Jack hesitated a bit when he found the controls weren't just for the temperature, but for the water pressure as well. After a minute, he decided to just go with 'standard'. Who knew what the other options were for?

And why was there something called 'geyser'? In a _shower_?

The standard setting turned out pretty safe. The water was, indeed, ice cold, and Jack muttered a curse no one could hear. He liked _snow_. Ice. Frost. And he was generally wearing clothes while dealing with the elements. It wasn't like he was a frost giant, after all! No matter what rumors a bunch of idiots kept trying to spread!

The water started warming immediately, though, a degree a second, and by the time it was lukewarm Jack was relaxing. It was already as warm as he'd ever dared with the campground, and it felt wonderful. The cocoa seemed out of his hair, too, but he was pretty sure he could still smell it.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but North _had_ said soap...

Last time he'd had a chance to use soap, it'd been some harsh lye stuff that'd rubbed his skin raw. That'd been years ago, maybe a full century.

The stuff North had in his shower, though, that was good stuff. Scented. Jack knew he was taking a while, just opening bottles and sniffing them, but he didn't want to stink like a candy cane for weeks after or anything.

He decided on some stuff that smelt like hickory and cinnamon, and followed the directions. This was the shampoo stuff, and the stuff in the matching bottle was conditioner, and this goop was body wash. The directions were simple, really, which wasn't surprising.

The problem was, the conditioner was only supposed to be in for a minute. How was he supposed to tell time in a shower?

Well... Jack poked his head out of the shower, and took another careful look around the bathroom. The bathroom was a ways down the hallway, and so long as he didn't bellow at the top of his lungs no one was likely to hear him...

He grinned. He'd always liked singing, even if every single spirit he ran across tried to murder him for it. Philistines.

* * *

North cleared his throat, and looked over at Aster. "Bunny, it has been an hour since Jack went to take shower, yes?"

Aster flicked an ear at him. "Your timekeeping isn't off, mate. What'd you want me to do about it?"

"Well, I must go supervise yeti making dinner. Jack is in guest hall, Sandy and Tooth haven't been there before."

Whereas Aster, who had suffered North's nursing during an incident with a broken leg, had.

"Worried he might be snooping around?"

"Well," North rumbled. "I wasn't, until you suggested it."

The Pooka snorted, and heaved himself up out of his chair. "Sure. And if you don't make the salad without bacon bits..."

" _Ja_ , you will shove boomerang down my throat, you have said before." North copied him, and they nodded to Tooth and Sandy as they headed different directions.

Aster wasn't surprised when Baby Tooth attached herself to him. She had a fondness for Frost, which figured since he'd both saved her and named her. Still, her chittering was hard on his ears.

"Belt up," he said, gently. "Don't want Frostbite to know we're sneaking up on him."

The fairy giggled, and nodded. He nudged her over to his shoulder, and sauntered. He wasn't really worried about Frost snooping around, so long as he was wearing clothes to do it. Pooka had fur, humans didn't, and there were limits to how much of Jack Frost he wanted to see. Face, hands, and feet were more than enough, thank you.

He heard the sound before the fairy did, no surprise there. It sounded... What was that, howling? Had Frost done something to one of the yeti?

As he got closer, he realized that what he was hearing was the distorted sound of someone singing in the shower.

 _Then_ he saw the steam trickling out from under the bathroom door.

"Jack?" he murmured. The Frostbite was a spirit of winter; those types didn't _do_ anything but cold. He'd figured Frost would do his damnedest to use up all the _cold_ water, not the hot.

He put one paw on the doorknob, and then froze. Because he was close enough to hear the singing proper now, paying attention or not.

He couldn't help but pay attention.

The Heartsong he'd been listening to for the past three hundred years was _resonating_.

To Jack Frost's singing.

Oh, boy.

" _Forward, march_!" Frost howled. There was a thump, like someone dropping a plastic bottle. " _Ey-oh Captain Jack! Bring me back to the railroad tracks!_ "

Aster let his head fall forward to thump against the door. Jack Frost?

But no, there was no mistaking what was happening with the Heartsong. Everything he'd heard from his parents, his siblings, his friends... Pooka sang- had sung- at a big festival once a year, hoping to find their match. Once you heard the Pooka singing, the Heartsong resonated and reflected the audible song, and then you knew.

That was happening now, with his Heartsong. To Jack Frost singing.

That... What? How was this possible? He'd had run ins with Frost before, and hadn't felt any change to his Heartsong!

Because Frost hadn't been singing, obviously. Talking just wasn't enough for the Heartsong to react, that'd been the whole _point_ to the old festival.

Baby Tooth twittered at him, and Aster closed his eyes. "Right," he mumbled. "Gotta pull myself together. Not like it's the end of the world or anything."

He nodded to himself, and pounded one fist against the door. "Oy, Frost! You done yet? North's putting on dinnies2!"

"- _Run along with Captain Jack_ \- What? Bunny?" There was another thump, this time like someone slipping on wet tile and going down on one knee. "Uh, hey, I'll be just another minute!"

Aster snorted, and looked down at his feet. "Your replacement clothes are out the door!"

He backed off far enough even his ears couldn't pick up the sound of Frost washing off. Baby Tooth chattered at him, so he pulled her off his shoulder and held her in his hands.

"Just, uh, had a bit of a realization," he told her. "Nothing bad, just something I gotta figure out."

She gave him a skeptical look, but nodded anyways. Well, at least he didn't have to deal with a bunch of high pitched questions.

It couldn't have been more than a minute before the shower turned off, and he saw the door crack open just enough for a pale arm to reach through and grope for the clothes. Aster barely noticed, until he caught the flash of black ink.

He straightened up with a strangled sound, eyes fixed on that patch of black. All too soon, Frost managed to catch hold of the clothes and pull back, the writing vanishing before Aster could get a clear look at it.

But he'd seen the Frostbite's arms, they'd been clear!

Kind of sparkly, now that he thought about it...

Aster shook his head. Damn, the kid covered over the Name, didn't he? Now why would he go and do something so thick? Aster had been around humans long enough to know about Names and all; most pairings got figured by one person recognizing their name on someone else's wrist. If Jack had a soul mate, which he obviously did, that soul mate wouldn't have a clue.

He rubbed his forehead, and looked up when Jack shuffled out of the bathroom. Baby Tooth perked right up and flew over to claim the Frostbite's shoulder for a new perch.

"Hey, uh." Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry for taking so long, and the singing, but the acoustics were really great and let's go eat now."

Aster blinked a bit, then turned and watched Frost hurry down the hallway. Why was he apologizing for the singing? Granted, all the echoes hadn't helped any, but it hadn't been half bad.

For that matter, what was Aster going to do about this? Jack Frost was his Heartsong. Jack bloody Frost, the larrikin that dumped a blizzard on Easter Sunday of '68...

Oh. Well. That...

There wasn't any reason to deny himself. Aster immediately started banging his head against the nearest wall. It hurt, but it'd feel _so_ good when he stopped. In a century. Or two.

Why couldn't this just be _simple_?

* * *

1\. Galah- foolish person. Or a type of parrot.

2\. Dinnies- dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the fastest update I've done, and it's all your fault. Yes, you, reader, you who leave reviews and kudos and seriously, I've got all the feels from this prompt and the music I've been listening to and what. What is this?
> 
> I advise listening to the following song while reading, if only because it has all the right notes. Sorrow, courage, and rising hope. Listen and weep, folks: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1sQ5jwsYbI


	3. Chapter Two

Morning in the Warren dawned bright, clear, and confusing.

Aster had been up all night, trying to sort his head out. At one point, he'd half convinced himself he'd imagined the whole thing, but there was no mistaking the Heartsong. Not only did Jack bloody Frost fit the Song to the proverbial _t_ , the Song had oriented itself on him.

Just the way it would if he'd found a Pooka mate at the old festival.

Except he hadn't found a _Pooka_ mate, had he, because Jack Frost hadn't been born while they'd been held.

Aster paced along the bank of the Coloring River, paws clasped behind his back and ears twitching madly. He couldn't be paired with a human, it wasn't right!

Except he'd already countered that argument three hundred years ago, when he'd first heard the Song. It might've been sticky if the Heartsong belonged to, say, one of the other species he'd run across in his time- humans, at least, were _mammals_ and not, say, orbs of pure energy that communicated through Morse code- but a human, now, it was possible to work with that. Hell, if it was a sticking point, he _could_ transform himself. He'd done it before, when children were involved. A human man at the park giving advice could be accepted a lot easier than a humanoid rabbit, after all.

Besides, a Pooka and a human were physically compatible enough for coupling, though not kits. Well, probably not kits. Though, both being spirits, the likelihood of kits went up, as compared to, say, a spirit and a mortal... But between two spirits that were, face it, _male_ , kits would be extremely difficult.

Too bad. He'd entertained the thought, now and again, over the centuries. He could change gender just as easily as he could change species, so it wouldn't be _impossible_...

Except that it'd be _Frost_ of all people giving half the genetics. They didn't even like each other! Mates, soul mates, were supposed to love and cherish each other, the whole wedding vow thing. Sickness and health, light and darkness, forever and always, not constant arguing and threats. Besides, this was Frost. How'd he put it, snow days and fun, instead of deadlines and work? Something like that. Aster hadn't met anyone as irresponsible as Frost, though a few of his acquaintances had come close.

Frost closed cities down for days at a time. Sure, the kids enjoyed their time out of school, but what about the adults? If the adults couldn't work, they didn't get paid, at least as far as Aster understood it. No money, no food, no shelter... That just put the kids at risk, didn't it?

That wasn't even thinking about the dangers of winter driving, though admittedly Aster had always looked at the _horseless carriages_ with suspicion, from the very first. Damn things were loud, smelly, and dangerous. At least when people used horses and carriages, the horses didn't go into a river because the driver was drunk, and having a horse and carriage knock into another one was a rare event.

Frost only made that sort of thing worse. Icy roads, kids not watching the traffic, adults trying to make up for lost time by driving too fast- accident waiting to happen. Toss in property damage from frozen pipes and the number heavy ice did to tree branches and power lines, and Aster had to shake his head. Mad. He didn't grudge the ankle biters a bit of fun, but there was such a thing as responsibility, wasn't there? And not just to the kids.

Aster huffed, and sat down on a handy rock. Well wasn't this just dandy? Him, a warrior trained in the Pooka _Agoge_ , a creature of, yes, deadlines and self-discipline, supposed to pair off with a brat trained in the fine art of breaking rules and wreaking havoc.

Didn't really seem fair, to _him_.

He didn't even find the brat attractive! Oh, there'd been a few humans over the years, but it generally wasn't their _bodies_ he found attractive. Well, there'd been that Adonis lad, you'd have had to be dead not to think him a beaut, and Isadora Duncan had been breathtaking when she'd danced. But mostly, if he found a human eye-catching, it was because of how they acted, not how they'd looked.

Whereas with Frost, well, his personality was already a problem. Physically, he was just... He was so thin he looked sickly, pale enough to be a corpse, and he dressed like a runaway teenager. Aster had always felt sorry for those kids, but not for Frost; the spirit didn't feel the cold, and could get away with bare feet in a blizzard.

The Pooka tilted his head back, and stared at the Warren's ceiling. He was pretty sure the Moon was still up, and it was tempting to head on up to the surface to yell at him. Satisfying as it would have been, not even the Moon decided who was destined to end up with whom. Besides that, anyone who came across him would think he'd gone absolutely starkers.

Finding your soul mate was supposed to be a _good_ thing.

It really, really didn't help that he could hear the joy in his Heartsong. It'd been one thing to fret about that loneliness and sorrow when he didn't know who it was, but now that he knew it was _Jack_...

Hold up. He'd been listening to _Jack_ the entire time.

Aster closed his eyes and thought back to the Song. To the first few years, where it'd been happy and growing. That would have been when Jack Frost had been a human, whatever his name had been then. Then the song had stopped- he had to swallow down a lump in his throat, remembering- and started again.

What had Jack said at the Tooth Palace, that he didn't remember anything before being Jack Frost? That explained the lonely, too, didn't it? No memories, no idea why he was about, and the humans wouldn't be able to see him, would they? No reason why they should, it took effort to get belief. Effort, time, and enough coincidences that eventually they figured out enough to tell the kids stories, which the kids then believed.

So that lonely despair had been Jack. That grief and desperation had been Jack. That depressive pit just before the blizzard of '68 had been _Jack_...

Oh, well, bugger. He'd known Frost had been lying, when he'd confronted the bloke. No way had that blizzard come about from a try at helping. But he could see it now, see Frost giving over to the despair and the weather matching him, and just when it's blown itself out the Easter Bunny goes and chews him out some more.

The determination that'd followed that blizzard... Well, someone had seen him, hadn't they? Talked to him, _touched_ him, and Aster knew what loneliness did. You grasped at anything, any shred or speck of attention that eased the pain even a little bit, and you clung. Didn't matter if the attention was negative, either, though Aster counted himself lucky. No one had yelled at _him_ for leaving his eggs out for the kids.

"Ah, damn," he muttered. "Haven't been giving Jack a fair crack of the whip1, have I?"

All those annoying patches of ice he kept coming across on Easter Sunday, all those times there'd been snow on the ground- though never enough to make hiding the goggies difficult- and all those times he'd had the kid pelt him with snowballs, he'd been looking for attention. For someone to acknowledge him. Like as not, Aster had been the first person in yonks2 to do more than ignore Jack Frost. Though after that blizzard, he'd done what he could to stay out of sight, figuring that eventually Frost would move on.

No chance of that, of course.

Aster got up and started pacing again.

So, slight shift in how he viewed Jack Frost, not unexpected. Bit odd that a winter spirit would crave company, but he knew now, didn't he? He'd fix it. Maybe they weren't friends yet, but how could he- how could anyone- sit back, Heartsong or not, knowing someone else was that miserable and not _do_ something about it? Thanks to the Heartsong, he would know where Jack was, no matter where he went, now that the Song had resonated. If it started getting... Well, a quick scrap and scratch would knock Jack out of depression right quick, wouldn't it?

If he'd known earlier, he would've acted earlier. All he'd be doing now is what he should have been doing before, right? Right.

Slight matter of Jack being his Heartsong, though.

Maybe he wasn't Jack's Name?

Aster stopped short, and about stumbled into the river. That was a possibility, wasn't it? One sided bonds happened, though they were rare. Maybe once every few centuries, among the humans. It'd been just as rare among the Pooka. Aster wasn't too clear on why, though; the theories over the years and across the species ranged everywhere from 'some people just shouldn't be in _romantic_ relationships' to 'threesomes!'

Was it possible that's what he had? That Jack was his Heartsong, the person who would complete him, but he wasn't Jack's?

Oh, hell no, he refused to believe that. He absolutely refused to think that this relationship was going to be that one sided. If, however crazy it sounded, Jack Frost was the person who'd properly fit into the holes in E. Aster Bunnymund's soul, then by all the stars in the sky, E. Aster Bunnymund was the one who'd fit into the holes in Jack Frost's soul.

He grimaced. The only problem now was figuring out how to work it. You couldn't have a relationship, not a healthy one, where both sides sniped _seriously_ at each other.

Well, he could start by making nice with Frost. Maybe he'd find something about the kid that he could stand.

* * *

Frost was, for some reason, up in Alaska. Well, Aster could guess why; Alaska was still scheduled, so to speak, for more snow. It'd been a clear Easter, even if it'd ended up wrecked. He wondered if he had to thank Frost for that.

Aster hopped out of his tunnel, and took a listen. He wasn't likely to hear the galah, there being lots of Alaska to look through. The Heartsong would lead him straight. No, he was listening for people. It'd be nice if some kids saw him, but the past few days had reminded him why he stayed away from the surface as much as he did. Being walked through was horrible.

Frost had put up with getting walked through for three centuries. For some reason that made Aster's eyes sting in sympathy.

There weren't any people around, and only a few caribou. He was tempted to call it the outback, but the proper word was probably tundra or something.

Frost was a ways ahead, doing- something- while crouched over close to the ground. He was surprisingly hidden, considering his hooded sweater was a bright blue. On the other paw, maybe it wasn't so surprising; highly visible clothing or not, Jack was a winter spirit, and the tundra hills were covered in a layer of snow. It was deep enough to bury a Pooka's ankles.

Aster headed towards Jack, ambling. The boy was shaping the snow, he realized. He'd already made some sort of sheltered igloo type building, though it was only just big enough for something like a cat, and now was making something that looked like a wall.

He didn't even notice when Aster stopped behind him. Granted, the Pooka was quiet, and his shadow was stretched out behind, not forward. Still, the boy should've been more aware of his surroundings. What if Pitch came back, or something?

"What're you doing there?" Aster asked.

Jack screamed and jumped, an impressive height if the wind hadn't been helping. He hovered, a good ten feet in the air, and glowered down at him.

"What're you doing here?"

"Looking for you. Didn't answer my question, mate. What's this?"

Jack lowered his hover to only six feet in the air, so they were eye to eye. "Nothing. Why? I haven't done anything." He folded his arms. "It's only been a day, anyways."

What- oh, right. Frost must've thought the visit was so Aster could chew him out.

The Pooka shrugged, and looked around for a place not covered in snow to sit. There wasn't any, not even a boulder, and he grimaced. Standing was just too formal, when you were swallowing your pride. Now, what reason would Frost accept for Aster searching him out?

Huh, that'd work. "Got a question for you."

Frost threw his staff down, so it landed straight up, and perched on the crook. "Yeah? What?" He rubbed one hand against his wrist; his left. His Mark.

Aster pretended not to notice, though he really, really wanted to push that sleeve up and check. It'd calm the clamor in his head, but it'd also get him an ice ball to the face, as he figured.

"At North's. There was steam under that door. What gives?"

"Under...?" Frost's entire face brightened in realization. "Oh, that. You know, I might be all snow days and snowballs and winter fun, but I can handle the heat."

You live and learn. "Figured it'd be painful for you," Aster said. "I mean, with the fire and all..."

"If I've got time to, what's the word, acclimatize," Frost admitted. "Once I have, though, it's... nice."

Nice. What was it like, to feel cold all the time, hands and feet just this side of numb, and for it to be normal? Aster squashed his immediate impulse, to grab Frost's hands and try to warm them up. He wanted to make nice with the kid, not be thought completely starkers3.

"Ah. Just wanted to know, then. But uh, you didn't say what this is." He gestured to the odd little construction. "Making a cat house?"

"No." Jack rolled his eyes. "Okay, I answered your question about the hot water thing. And I'm not telling you about this. Anything else or are we done?"

It hurt, a bit, but the brush off was probably par for the course. How many times had Aster brushed Jack off? "Just... Maybe wanted to have a quick chinwag with you, is all," Aster admitted. "Figured, well, you're not exactly the hellion I'd pegged you as."

Jack raised an eyebrow, and how long had it taken before he could do that? "Really."

"I'm fair dinkum."

"You're _what_?"

He almost rolled his eyes. Right, slang. "Honest."

Jack _did_ roll his eyes. "Okay, can there be- can't believe I'm saying this- a rule that you speak English when talking with me? Can't imagine why you'd want to _now_ , but still."

"It's English," Aster protested. "I don't go switching languages all the time like North does."

"Not American English," Jack said. He shook his head. "How am I supposed to understand you when you sound like one of those brain dead surfers?"

" _Brain dead_?" Oh, now that...! Argh! "Brain dead! You brat, you..." Aster trailed off as he got an idea. He began to smile.

Frost hopped off his staff and started to back away. "I'm not liking that look, Bunny. It's a bad look. Cut it out."

"Crikey, mate, I'm not here to have a blue. Figured you've been Pat Malone too long, and just wanted to hit the bush telegraph with you. But if you want me to shut my gob and rack off, I'll rack off." Aster held up his hands, but didn't start moving just yet.

Jack had the most interesting expression, a mix of confusion and amusement. "Was _that_ supposed to be English?"

"Fair dinkum."

He caught the glint in Frost's eye too late to dodge. The snowball hit him right between the eyes, and going from the sudden rush of _glee_ , it was one of those happy inducing snowballs, too. He didn't mind too much, better than ice, and it felt good to laugh.

"Glad you're enjoying yourself," Jack said, apparently trying to sound snooty but only coming off as amused. "So what _was_ that?"

"Aussie slang," he admitted, calming down.

"And what'd you _say_?"

Aster waved it off. "Not important. You've got my curiosity up about this thing, refusing to answer." He crouched down to study it further. Very basic, really. If it were any bigger the roof would cave in, he suspected. And the walls, what need did the miniature igloo have for walls surrounding it?

Jack cleared his throat, and then crouched down across the thing from Aster. "Well... Everyone else has a home. I think Sandy has a home, anyways."

Jack didn't have a _home_? Aster hoped his shock wasn't too obvious, though there was no hiding the way he jumped, or how his head snapped up so he was staring at Frost, all bug eyed and gaping.

Frost hunched his shoulders, and poked the roof of his mini-igloo with one finger. It promptly collapsed.

"You, uh, I always figured you traveled to follow winter," Aster managed. Jack really was homeless? He'd thought it was just a look or something. For that matter, he wanted one? Everything Aster had heard about winter spirits said they were more comfortable in snow drifts than four walls.

Though he'd never actually interacted with all too many winter spirits. Just Frost, really. What did he know?

"Well, yeah, I do, but I remember..." Jack's face twisted a little, and he scooped up a handful of snow. "My dad built our home. Safest place I knew, growing up." He glanced up at that, then away.

Huh. "So, do you want one of these dome things, or a proper building? I have to tell you, if you try putting it in Burgess, it'll melt come spring."

"I was thinking Antarctica," Jack admitted.

Antarctica! "It's really cold there," Aster muttered. And impossible to get his tunnels up through all the ice and snow. One thing to manage it at North's place, where the snow on one particular ridge just seemed thinner for some reason, another thing entirely down south.

"Uh, yeah," Jack said, smiling oddly. "Winter spirit, remember? Cold's kind of my thing."

"It'd make visits tricky," Aster said, not really thinking about it.

Well, he didn't think about it until Jack dropped his handful of snow.

"You- you'd want to visit? I mean-!"

"You're a right stunned mullet, aren't you?" he said. "Yeah. If you didn't dump snow on me every time I came by."

"What about some of the time?" Jack asked, though he was still staring.

"I'll dunk you in my river, how's that? Think Tooth's fairies will still be after you if you're green?"

Jack glared and threatened him with another snowball. "Back to the house."

"Back to the house." It'd been yonks since he'd played in the snow, but it was coming back to him as they worked.

They managed to establish that Jack wanted what he thought of as a proper house, as near to what his father had built as you could get with snow and ice. So, two rooms, a loft, a few windows, though they'd be filled with clear ice instead of glass.

Jack even promised he wouldn't get himself pet polar bears, after Aster threatened him with a boomerang.

It was a good conversation, Aster decided, heading back through his tunnels to the Warren. Strangely enough, he'd been reluctant to leave.

And the joy in his Heartsong was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

* * *

1\. Fair crack of the whip- give someone a fair go.

2\. Yonks- a long time.

3\. Starkers- crazy.


	4. Chapter Three

There was something wrong with the kangaroo. Not, like, a physical illness or injury or anything, but mentally. _Inside_ , deep down where things got weird.

Like that slang. Jack knew the basics about Australia- they had more poisonous animals per square inch, most of them insects, than anywhere else in the world did or should; the place had started off as England's epic prison colony; they had weird food and weirder songs; the south of Australia got the snow, because the north was closest to the equator- but that didn't help him decipher Bunny when he got going.

And oh, did he get going. It was getting to the point that Jack couldn't turn around now without tripping over Bunny's big feet. It was chinwag this and bush telegraph that or goss1 the other thing. And while Jack didn't mind talking to the kangaroo, it was weird. Three hundred years of mostly sullen silences didn't prepare him for... for all this!

So he took off. Bunny didn't like to fly, and Jack loved it. The Wind loved to carry him. And now, not only did he know where Santa live (and have a key to one of the windows, so he could come in anytime and be welcome) but he also knew where Tooth's palace was. Over in Asia, though for the life of him he couldn't have said just where, exactly.

Even if Tooth didn't have time for him, Baby Tooth would most certainly abandon her duties to talk. Maybe he shouldn't have been encouraging her to do that, but he liked the fact that Baby liked to spend time with him, and not just because she got to stare at his teeth while he talked.

The trip was uneventful, though he set off a few light snow storms that'd turn to rain when they hit land. Rain was good for thawing stuff, right? Well, if he was lucky the air would be cold enough over land that the snow would stay frozen, at least for a little. Long enough to smooth over some rough edges, at least.

Tooth's palace was utter chaos, as expected. Jack had been dragooned into helping cart the boxes of teeth back from Pitch's lair, which had been strangely abandoned. Whatever, the important thing was that the teeth were back where they belonged, the Tooth Fairy (and tooth fairies) were hard at work, and children believed again.

Tooth had even done... something... with the teeth, to fix their belief in the Easter Bunny. "It's not something I like doing that often," she'd said, and patted Bunny's cheek, "but you deserve a break."

Bunny had grumbled, but not protested. He'd even actually smiled at Tooth. Jack took a twisted amount of pride in the fact that only a few fairies swooned at the rabbit's buckteeth. When Jack smiled, they all tended to faint. It was kind of funny.

He shook his head and focused. The Wind dropped him off only a few feet from the ground, and he hit dirt in a three point landing an Olympic gymnast would have been proud of.

"Ten points," he mumbled, "all around." Okay, so there were fairies zipping and zapping every which way. Where would their Queen be, though?

At the top, he decided, and concentrated. Flying on his own was possible, just not as much fun as riding the Wind. Besides, doing it himself took effort. Letting someone else take control just meant he could sit back and laugh.

Jack reached the top tower, and had to perch on the- mostly decorative- railing a minute to catch his breath. Okay, either he needed to ask Wind to take over the flying even more, or he needed practice. He stepped down off the railing, and looked around for Tooth.

She was directing her fairies around the globe, wings buzzing, feathers gleaming, looking like a very strangely dressed air traffic controller.

"Hey, Tooth," he said, interrupting something about a hockey tournament and garbage cans. "Too busy to talk?"

"Oh, Jack!" Tooth's feathered crest puffed up, and she beamed. "It's lovely to see you! If you can just wait a few minutes- get the teeth out of the trash before it's bagged up, we don't want another incident like Miami- I'll just get Baby Tooth out here to take over."

Jack leaned back to prop up a wall, and watched. Tooth was sure in her element, which kind of figured. And it was nice to see Baby Tooth, though she was only able to chirp a hello and wave at him before taking over for her mother. They passed off command with an ease that told him they'd done this before.

"Guess you've been taking breaks," he said, once Tooth had fluttered across the three feet separating them.

"Oh, well, it's nice to get into the field now and again, and Baby Tooth has a real gift for delegation," she said. "Not that I don't like seeing you, but I was expecting you'd wait until the temperature was more comfortable."

He just kept from rolling his eyes. "I can handle warmer temperatures," he said. "Heck, I spent three years down in _Bermuda_ before the locals chased me off. I just need time to get used to the difference, is all, and the flight over did that."

Though, granted, he didn't like the really hot temperatures, like the Sahara Desert. If there was humidity, he faired a bit better, but his time in Bermuda hadn't been a pleasure trip. He couldn't remember now just what he'd done to tick off the freaking Snow Queen, of all people, but she was tied to the cold and ice more than he was, so. Bermuda had been an alright place to hang out, once he'd adjusted to how... unclothed everyone seemed to be.

It might've been three hundred years, but there were _still_ times he felt awkward seeing a lady's ankles.

"Sorry," Tooth said, drawing him back to the present.

"Hey, no worries. Anyways, I figured I'd check up on my two favorite ladies, though it's pretty clear I have to talk to you one at a time." He glanced over at Baby Tooth, who didn't notice him, focused as she was. Ah, well, maybe later.

"Favorite ladies, Jack?" Tooth tucked one hand into the crook of his arm, which he honestly hadn't expected. She led him along the halls- which had clearly been built for flying creatures, because there were holes in the floor, and no stairs- to what looked like a super fancy sitting room. He was pretty sure he'd seen something like it in Buckingham Palace, although Tooth didn't have red velvet ropes strung everywhere to keep the gawkers from fondling the chaise lounges.

"Hey, the kids are, you know, kids, and have you ever met the female winter spirits? Seriously, run the other way, very fast." He grinned, and sat down only after she had. Around Tooth, his old manners seemed much more appropriate. In lieu of a hat, he laid his staff across his lap.

"Well, thank you," Tooth said. She sat back, and turned to watch several of her fairies bring in a tea tray, a pot- empty, he guessed- and a jar of what he guessed were tea leaves. "Do you like tea?"

"I was born before coffee," he told her. "Hit me. Strong and black, please."

"I couldn't hit you," she said. He almost thought she was joking, but then he saw the glint in her eyes. "I might damage your lovely teeth."

"You're a funny person," he said, and provided snow to melt for water. Quicker, and easier, than asking her fairies to bring a bucket or something.

Tooth fussed with the tea, and with the plain biscuits that replaced the more common cookies. Jack sat back and let her work. He'd had his hands slapped enough back when he'd been trying to help his mother, to know he didn't know the first thing about tea brewing.

Didn't stop him from enjoying the drink, though these days he cooled it with a touch to lukewarm. "Thanks," he said, and sipped at it. "Uh, let me guess, Masala Chai?"

"Good guess," Tooth told him. "You really do like tea."

"Certain blends." And older types. He hadn't known it at the time, when he'd filched the occasional bag, but drinking tea was something his family had done together. A cup in the morning to wake up, a cup in the evening before bed, and if it was cold out, a cup with every meal instead of drinks like cold cider or sweet milk.

"Are you here about your memories?" Tooth asked. She leaned forward, the better to place one hand on his forearm. "You look very thoughtful."

Jack shook his head. "Actually, I- this is going to sound bad, but I'm avoiding Bunny. He's freaking me out."

" _Bunny_?" Tooth leaned back, and sipped at her drink. "He's not nagging at you, is he?" She frowned.

"No, no," Jack said. "No, it's just... I turn around and there he is! _Stalking_ me or something." Okay, not that bad, but it was weird. "Three hundred years of restrained hostility, and now it's like we're supposed to be best friends or something," he groused.

Tooth giggled, and then just didn't stop. She tried to hide her smile behind her tea cup, but he saw it, _oh yes he did_.

"You know something!" he said, and pointed at her. Then he took a drink of his tea. Oh yeah, just the way he liked it. "C'mon, tell, I'm just so confused right now."

"You're so cute," she said, and picked up a biscuit. She studied it, and then nibbled one edge delicately. "Really, even if your teeth weren't as white as newly fallen snow, you'd still be adorable."

What was it about the teeth? "That's not an answer."

"Patience." She nibbled some more at her biscuit, then sipped her tea. Jack considered freezing the entire tea cup in revenge, but that'd land him on the naughty list, and he kind of wondered what sort of present Santa would give him, so.

"Okay," Tooth said, and set down the cup and barely touched biscuit. "The first thing you need to know about Bunny is, he never, ever _says_ he's sorry."

"About what?" Jack wondered, and then leveled a squint-eyed look at Tooth. Judging from her twitching lips, he just looked weird, not suspicious. Oh, well. He'd get back into the interpersonal body language skills now that he had people to, you know, talk to. "He never actually says he's sorry? What does that mean?"

"It means instead of manning up and actually saying two little words, he follows you around looking sad until you get so annoyed you end up in an argument." She picked up her tea. "Last time, some of my girls got a bit enthusiastic about his teeth-" Jack translated that as 'feathers in Bunny's mouth' and winced, "-and he started waving his hands around and swatted one out of the air. I had to finally banish him from my Palace for three months, just to make him leave me alone so I could work."

"Huh." Well, Jack didn't have anywhere to banish Bunny from, so that wouldn't work for him. "It's not like I _mind_ ," he said, picking his way carefully. "It's just weird. What's he got to be sorry about?"

Tooth frowned at him, and tilted her head to the side. "You don't... You should probably ask him," she decided. "I don't know what he's thinking."

"Well, I won't have any trouble finding him," Jack said, and laughed. "Okay, how are things going for you?"

Tooth beamed, and fluttered her wings. "Oh, it's just lovely. I'm so glad Baby Tooth can take over for me now and then, it's nice to actually get out and see the children myself."

Jack grinned, and settled down into some polite catching up. The talk of various teeth went _way_ over his head, with so much room to spare a space station could have flown between him and understanding, but it made Tooth happy.

Too soon, though, she had to get back to work, though she promised to send Baby Tooth to spend time with him. Jack poured himself another cup of tea and waited.

Baby Tooth was utterly delighted to see him, and snuggled into his chest for several minutes. She only pulled back after he'd about cracked a rib from laughing.

"Hey, there," he said, and held out one hand for her to perch on. "And how are you doing, little miss? Moved up in the world, did you?"

Baby Tooth nodded, and chattered at him. He caught maybe one word in ten, and it all seemed to be related to teeth and the care of.

"Well, I'm proud of you," he said.

Baby gave him a look, like she knew he hadn't understood any of it, but fluffed out her feathers. She chirped at him.

"Well," Jack said slowly. "I'm avoiding the Easter Apology Bunny, apparently. But uh, what do you think of Antarctica?"

She looked at him as if he were crazy, and shook her head.

"But I need somewhere to put my house! Once I build it. And it's got to be cold year round. Trust me, there are places I can't go, North's already got the North Pole..."

Baby Tooth sighed, and rolled her eyes. She chirped at him, very slowly, repeating herself. Jack made a face but concentrated. Not his fault he didn't speak tooth fairy.

"You want me to ask North if I can build up by him?"

Baby Tooth nodded.

Jack leaned back in his seat. "Well, he offered me a room, so he probably wouldn't mind a neighbor." And it'd give both of them space. Jack needed it, really. It was nice to have company, to talk to someone and have them respond, but he also knew that living with someone twenty-four-seven would quickly drive him crazy. "That could work."

Baby Tooth nodded again, and fluttered up to snuggle against his neck. She pulled back and mock shivered, but gave him an approving look.

"Hey, I'd have had something for hot cocoa, or... no? Too much sugar?" Baby nodded. "What about tea?"

She considered it, and then darted over to the tea pot. She tried to lift it by the handle, and Jack had to rescue it before who-knew-how-old bone china got dropped to the floor.

"If you want some tea, I'll pour." She glared, and he hastened to add, "I know I'm the guest, but I don't want you to hurt yourself. It'd break my heart."

He clapped one hand to his chest, and made doe eyes at her. She relented, as his sister always had, and accepted a small cup of tea.

After about an hour of talking, Baby Tooth had to get back to work, gathering teeth instead of sending out her sisters. Jack ducked up to say goodbye to Tooth, and then headed back to Burgess. He'd been hanging around the lake, for lack of anything better to do. Besides, it was nice being able to just walk the equivalent of a few blocks to say hi to Jamie and his friends.

A whole eight believers, children that could see him. It was, to quote the kangaroo, a right beaut of a thing.

Jack sighed, and hovered over the surface of the lake. He considered freezing it, but the ice wouldn't be very thick, and it wouldn't last more than a few minutes, either. Considering his memories, it was surprising he didn't have more issues with thin ice than he did.

Though the number of people who went through the ice, when he was around, was down to pretty much nil. The problem was, he wasn't always around. Well, maybe he'd be able to find some way to fix that...

"What're you doing out there, mate?"

Bunny. Jack closed his eyes, and shook his head, grinning. "What do you want this time, Kangaroo?" he asked, and floated towards the shore. "More, what was it, tree telegrams?"

"Bush telegraph," Bunny answered. He was leaning against a tree, arms folded but his shoulders weren't tense, so... no fight. Again. Awesome.

"More of that?"

"Might be. Gonna play on the water some more?"

Jack hopped in the air just long enough to do a quadruple summersault forwards, and land right in front of the rabbit. "Nah, no waves." He paused, and held up one finger. "Do you know how to surf?"

"Salt water wrecks my fur and I don't like sharks." Bunny paused, and raised his eyebrows when Jack continued to stare at him. "No."

"Darn."

"Darn?"

The winter sprite all but cackled. "What if I offered to teach you?"

Bunny closed his eyes, and looked like he was holding a migraine back by force of will alone. "You know how to surf?"

"Sort of." People in British Columbia, Canada, were crazy. Fun crazy. Surfing in November. He _loved_ those people. "I've watched, anyways."

"No, Frostbite."

Jack laughed, and hopped up onto his staff. "Okay, what is it?"

Bunny shoved away from the tree, and tapped on the staff. Jack had to cheat a little and float while he clung to the crook with his toes. He also had to flail his arms and do a weird swivel move with his feet until the staff was standing up straight again.

Bunny, he noticed, had just watched the whole show in bemusement. "What?"

"Nothing. Thought you wanted to talk some more about that house in the south you wanted to build."

He was only imagining the sneer on Bunny's face when he said 'south'. Probably.

"Actually, I swung by to see Tooth and Baby Tooth, and Baby thought I should ask North if he'd mind a neighbor. I don't think he will, he offered me a room, and hey, yeti labor force! It'd go up in a day, I'd bet."

"He offered you a room?" Bunny asked. Jack was... pretty sure he was imagining the whole 'put out' part of Bunny's tone.

"Uh, yes? He said he'd make me a bed of snow. Or have Phil do it. I don't know." Which didn't make sense, because snow beds? Were actually pretty bad for the back. He'd tried.

There was no way he was imagining Bunny grinding his teeth like that. Now, was tooth grinding a good thing or a bad thing? Times like this, he wished he'd paid more attention to wild rabbits over the decades, he might have a clue.

Always considering Bunny's body language was the same as unintelligent regular rabbits, that is.

"You take him up on that?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Are you going to help me design my house or not?"

For some reason, Bunny perked up at that. Jack shook his head. He just did not understand people.

They worked in semi-silence for a while, crouched over and building miniature houses out of blocks of snow. Jack didn't remember, exactly, the dimensions of his old home, and he really wanted things to be as close to what his old home had been as he could get. There weren't even any historical sites he could reference. When Burgess had been built, the old buildings had ended up razed to the ground, long before anyone had thought to preserve their heritage.

"Hey, Bunny?" Jack asked, once they'd eased back to take a break. His back was starting to hurt a bit from being hunched over. Who knew how the rabbit felt; he probably spent a lot of time hunched over painting eggs.

"Yeah?" Bunny walked over to a nearby rock big enough to serve as a seat, and brushed the snow off. Once he was settled, he looked over at Jack. "Pull up your staff?"

"This is my forest," Jack muttered, but jumped up onto his staff's crook anyways. "Got a question for you."

"Go on, then."

"Tooth thinks the crazy, constant, almost stalker like following you're doing, hanging out with me... She thinks you're feeling sorry for something." Jack looked up from his hands. "What've you got to be sorry for?"

"I'm not stalking you," Bunny muttered. He folded his arms, but this time his fur was bristling over tense shoulder muscles. "And it's not crazy."

"You didn't say you didn't feel sorry." He paused and reviewed that sentence. "Did that make sense?"

"Yes." Bunny kicked at the ground, but didn't actually double tap and vanish. "And no, I didn't."

Jack nodded, because he could feel himself floundering with this conversation. "So? What're you sorry for?"

The kangaroo huffed, and laid his ears back. "Snap judgments."

"Huh?" Jack leaned forward, defying gravity thanks to, you know, the power of flight. "I don't get it."

"Would you stop that? You look like you're going to break your face."

Well, if it made the crazy Aussie happy... Jack eased back. A little.

"Thanks." Bunny made a face at him. "It didn't occur to me that you might not be like the other winter spirits."

"I've met them," Jack agreed. "They tried to kill me." And stopped, once they'd smartened up and gotten a clue.

Bunny slanted a look in his direction, paws twitching. "They tried- well, glad they failed."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Bunny looked away, and cleared his throat. "Anyways, you know them, so you know what I figured you were. And you're not. But I still figured you were, so I- Not giving you a chance to prove otherwise. It wasn't right."

Huh, Tooth was right, he didn't actually _say_ he was sorry. Implication was good enough, Jack decided, and beamed. "You're forgiven. You don't have to crazy stalk me anymore."

The rabbit glared at him, then kicked the staff out from under him. "I'm not stalking you," Bunny said, while Jack picked himself up.

"Uh huh." Jack threw the snowball, and missed. Damn that speed. "Get back here, I need to bury you!"

"Can't catch a rabbit, mate!"

Can't, huh? Just watch him.

* * *

1\. Goss- gossip.

(Can anyone explain why the first chapter's note isn't attached to the first chapter, but seems to be attached to _every other chapter_? And how I'm supposed to fix it?

(That said, this is the end of act one, so to speak. Less talking next chapter, more Aster fretting, more clueless Jack, and some advancement of the fluff.

(Sorry, plot. Totally meant to say plot.)


	5. Chapter Four

It ended up taking three days to build Jack's house. After the walls caved in the first time, Phil took a hand. There was a reason the yeti was in charge of Santa's Workshop, from security to repair to where they got the water for the bath. By the time the yeti was done, the single interior wall was as thick as Jack's arm, the loft floor was made of up ice beams of the same thickness, and the exterior walls were thick enough that, standing in the doorway with arms outstretched, Jack could barely get his fingertips passed the textured sides.

It ended up being a bit bigger than he'd expected; the floor space was the same, at least.

Then the yeti descended with furniture that had been put into storage. A table and chairs, a bed frame (and after a quick word with Phil, a mattress and sheets), several cupboards, and curtains.

After that, North threw a housewarming party. It was held in the Workshop, simply because there wasn't enough room for the crowd that descended upon them.

Jack had kept to the rafters at first, a little- okay, a lot- overwhelmed. There were spirits, all humanoid, as many as fifty of them. Most of them were minor spirits, which was understandable. Spirits like Jack, who could go toe to toe with the likes of the Guardians, even without believers, were rare. Most spirits had enough power to influence a few things, but only within their very specific sphere.

Three of the original four Guardians had arrived promptly, and Tooth had eventually dragged him down out of his hiding spot. She warned him Bunny wouldn't be showing up; apparently his ears were sensitive enough that being around crowds was sometimes painful.

"He'll congratulate you later," she promised.

"More like complain how far off his design we had to go," Jack replied.

It ended up being a good party. The spirits had all brought gifts, and most of them were actually things Jack would use. Like the basketful of ever-blooming flowers in red, yellow, and orange. Those he'd put in the faux fireplace, instead of an actual fire. All he had to do was trickle a little energy to the flowers, once a day, something even the yeti could do if he couldn't.

He was surprised when he saw North wrap a massive arm around a tiny little woman with no fingers, but after he asked some of the Iglulingmiut spirits (and impressed them by knowing a few words- their believers lived up in the cold and snow, how could he have avoided learning a few words?) he got a few answers.

North was snuggled up with Sedna, Inuit goddess of the seas, who'd lost her fingers somehow- stories conflicted- and apparently had North for her Name. In all fairness, she was his Name right back.

Jack's enjoyment of the party faded a bit at that. He was happy North had found his Name, he _was_ ; apparently the man had searched for all his life as a Cossack bandit, and a good few centuries as Santa Claus. It was only that...

He realized he was tracing his left arm, where his Name was hidden, and forced himself to stop.

Not long after _that_ , the party was interrupted.

By the Snow Queen.

Jack smirked as everyone drew back, or drew a weapon, or did both. He sauntered forward and bowed. "My dear lady," he said, each word positively dripping with sarcasm.

She raised her eyebrow at him, but nodded. "Jackson Frost." Diamond dust1 drifted around her, and her gown was covered in so much frost and ice it was amazing she could move. "It interested me to hear you had finally settled down. Perhaps you will be seen in my court more often."

"Uh, no," he said. Behind him, he heard someone gasp. Male voice, possibly North, he'd have more dealings with the Snow Queen's _delightful_ court than anyone else, probably.

Well, not as much as Jack, obviously.

"I'm a Guardian, not one of your hangers on," he told her. "But you know where I am. If you want to talk, you can always leave a message if I'm out."

The Queen actually unbent enough to smile, or what passed for a smile with her. Her lips curved upwards faintly, it was enough. "Very well. Ah, of course, when one comes to a party, one should bring a present for the host... Or hosts." She looked over at North, who'd moved to defend his Name and a few other guests.

"Dearest Nicholas, put that away," the Queen said, and flicked her fingers at North's cutlass. "It's hardly necessary. You'll find _your_ gift out by your reindeer stable, I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

She turned back to Jack, and held one hand out, palm up. An orb of crystalline ice the size of her fist formed there, and when it was complete she gave it to him. "I'm sure you know what that is for," she said.

"As long as it's not like the Mirror of Doom."

She smiled again. "Merely watch for Wendigo, child," she said. "And may your Heart guard you."

The Snow Queen left, as suddenly as she'd arrived. Jack tucked the ice ball in his hoodie pocket, then turned and faced the inevitable questions.

He managed to dodge most of them, thankfully. He wasn't associated with the Snow Queen's court, or any other Winter court, and was proud of it. He did admit that he occasionally helped the other winter spirits out- they _all_ hated the Wendigo, for instance, and the Inuit spirits helped him out by explaining just what the Wendigo was- but mostly they all left each other alone. As for the ice ball, well, it'd work like a minor version of the Queen's mirror of doom, only without the 'see only the bad' thing her mirror had going. It'd let him keep an eye out for Wendigo- and _only_ Wendigo- without actually having to go spend months watching North American forests.

Eventually, the party broke up. Jack pretended he hadn't caught North and Sedna kissing under some mistletoe. Despite it not being the proper season for that tradition, it didn't seem to be stopping her.

"So," Jack said, once she was gone, "that's Mrs. Claus, huh?"

North had nailed him in the face with a teddy bear.

With the guests gone, even Tooth and Sandy, the two of them settled down to go through the gifts. A few ended up in a reject pile, like the bone whaling knife- North claimed that one, simply because it was an interesting shape and it was historical- or the inflatable girlfriend. Jack wasn't sure he remembered exactly who had given him that, but North muttered something about the naughty list, so he decided to leave it in the Cossack's hands.

"Have incinerator for bad mistakes," North told him. "Heats water for bath! Will be putting naughty doll there, get something from bad present, yes?"

"Well, I sure don't want it."

"There, it is done. No more thinking of it!"

The rest of the presents were hauled over to his new house in four trips. Jack had considered putting everything away, but he was exhausted and ended up going to bed instead.

The morning after, he schlepped over to the Workshop to join North for breakfast, then went to work putting his new things away. He'd gotten a surprising amount of glasses, mugs, bowls and plates, and cutlery, but at least it meant he didn't have to go begging for that sort of thing from his friends. And, he noticed, all his new bowls and plates had snowflakes for a theme.

Well, he _was_ the only winter spirit they likely had any real experience with, he supposed.

He'd also been given a few games, including the inevitable Monopoly board game, which he put away in one of the cupboards. He was trying to figure out where the novelty bobble heads were going to go, when he was interrupted by a knock on his door.

Jack yanked it open, and grinned. "Bunny! Come on in, it's warmer inside, I promise."

"Would have to be," the Australian rabbit said. He was hunched over, and clutched a plain wrapped package to his stomach with both arms. "Isn't it supposed to be _summer_?"

"And yet, there's snow. That'd be why I built my home up here."

Bunny set his package down on the kitchen table, beside the bobble heads, and then stared at them. "What're these?"

"House warming gifts. Or, well, someone suggested house _cooling_ , since, you know, but I really have no idea who thought these were a good idea." Jack tapped one of the bobble heads, and set it nodding. "I think they're supposed to be hockey players."

"Creepy," Bunny announced.

"My mother certainly wouldn't have let anything like this in the house. What've you got there?"

The rabbit drew himself up, the tips of his ears just brushing the ceiling. "Thought I'd leave off the prezzy giving?"

"Well, you helped me design my house." And being able to hold a conversation with him without arguments springing up was one thing. Actually going off and getting him a present? Completely something else.

"You don't want it?"

"No, no," Jack put one hand down on the package. The paper crinkled under his hand. "I'm sure I'll like it. Whatever it is, I know you wouldn't get me, like, an inflatable girlfriend."

"A..." Bunny's eyes glazed over, and then he shuddered. "Who thought that was a good idea?"

"No clue, but North said he'd handle it. He also took the whaling knife, and should I be worried about that?"

Bunny waved his hand in dismissal. "He's got a collection." He paused, and looked down at Jack. "It's real creepy, mate. He's got swords and knives from everywhere."

"I think I promised he could give me a tour. I don't know, the punch might've gotten spiked."

Bunny's whiskers twitched. "Someone threw it on the ground?"

"No, got alcohol put in it." Jack grinned, and gestured to one of the chairs. "Not all up with slang, are you?"

"Not teenage stuff." The chairs, thankfully, were the kind that let Bunny- or anyone else with a tail, Jack supposed- sit comfortably, without being stools.

"So," Jack said. "What'd you get me?" He poked at the package, and frowned when tendrils of frost crept across the paper. He hadn't exactly meant for that to happen...

"Open it and see."

The rabbit looked far too amused by Jack's curiosity, but whatever. The other Guardians had gotten him some amazing stuff- Sandy had given him a collection of sea shells and sea glass, Tooth had given him a tea pot and some cups and saucers, and North had given him a wardrobe for his clothes, since he now had several pairs of jeans and several hoodies.

He had to wonder what Bunny had gotten him, but like the rabbit had said, there was only one way to find out. He unwrapped it carefully, figuring he could always reuse the paper later on.

It was a blanket. Jack brushed his fingers over the yarn, and blinked. It was softer than cashmere, than baby alpaca wool. "Did you knit this?" It was definitely handmade, it looked like something his mother might have made, over long winter nights.

When he unfolded it, it was easily big enough to cover a queen sized bed, even a king sized, and just as clearly it'd been made as a single square, instead of several panels sewn together.

"Might of," Bunny said. He helped Jack fold it up again.

"Wow," Jack breathed, and ran his fingers over the blanket again. It was such an interesting color, too, a silvery blue, flecked with white and a little bit of black- wait. "Bunny, you didn't, is this your fur?"

"Well," the rabbit said. His ears twitched madly, and his whiskers were flattened against his cheeks. "Had bags of the stuff just lying around, might as well do something with it."

The rabbit's fur was short, how'd he manage to spin it into yarn? For that matter, why would he give Jack something so precious? "But, but it's like the teeth, right? If someone, if, they could hurt you, or-"

"And I'm giving it to you." Bunny looked up, and smiled. "You'll take care of it." Of Bunny.

Jack had to sit down, or fall to the floor. This was huge. No one had ever- even Jack knew a little about the laws of magic. It was why Pitch had gone to so much trouble of stealing all the children's teeth; because the teeth had been part of the children, and the adults, he was able to, influence them. He couldn't stop them believing, but he could make it easier to shake their belief. Thus, when Easter had failed, they had stopped believing in _all_ the Guardians, not just Bunny.

Bunny had given Jack a blanket made out of his fur. Jack didn't know whether that'd make it more or less effective at influencing the rabbit than the teeth had been influencing the children, but it could still be used against him.

But he had given it to Jack. He trusted Jack would take care of it. Of something that could be turned into a weapon against Bunny.

"I don't know what to say," he murmured.

Bunny reached over, and placed one hand over Jack's. "Maybe that you'll keep it?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, I- you really trust me _that_ much?"

"About time, don't you think?" Bunny squeezed Jack's hand, and then pulled back. "So, what's this about the Snow Queen showing up last night?"

* * *

The blanket had gone over well, Aster decided. He'd almost shown up at Frost's door with a couple goggies, but he'd remembered the damn project just in time.

He'd been making it for... had to be two centuries, now, off and on. For his Heartsong, actually, when the project hadn't been sending him into a mild depression. It was a Pooka thing, really, since you were in essence giving a physical symbol of the abstract.

_"Into your hands I place my heart."_ That was the important thing. Among spirits, that sort of thing could be used for any number of things; components in an effective voodoo doll, or any number of malevolent spells. Jack's reaction showed he knew about _that_ bit, at least, and Aster thought the Frostbite had gotten a clue as to how much he was trusted, now.

Because he was, he really, truly was. Aster hadn't even had to _think_ about it before wrapping the blanket up. Of course Jack would take care of it. To think otherwise was like the sun coming up in the west and setting in the east, or North going on a diet.

There was another facet to the whole blanket thing; Jack would be sleeping wrapped up in Aster's fur. He'd start to smell like Aster, just a little bit. Enough for anyone with a working nose to get the hint and back off.

Aster smirked to himself, and hopped down to sit next to one of his sentinel eggs. "I should think about getting Jack a room down here," he decided. "In case he decides to stay over."

If he had his way, Jack would be staying over a lot.

He rubbed his paws together, and then paused. At some point, Jack would clue in that he was actually being courted, and he'd have questions. It'd be a good idea to try and predict them, so he'd have some clue as to how he should answer them.

The last thing he wanted to do was blurt out Jack was his Heartsong. That'd just lead to a sticky mess, which would no doubt end with angry words and hurt feelings on both sides. Never mind Aster was sure they'd eventually patch it up if that happened, he didn't want to hear any sorrow in his Heartsong again. Or be on a lookout for traps in his Warren.

No, however much Jack would (hopefully) be happy at the Heartsong thing _later_ , he'd be upset on first hearing it. If Aster had known about him, why the three centuries of abandonment? Sure, explaining that Aster hadn't known until hearing Jack sing would work, but there'd still be the hurt and sorrow and arguments.

He'd figure out how to break the news later. At the moment, he needed to figure out what to tell his mate-to-be.

* * *

1\. Diamond dust- in this case, I'm talking about a type of snow. It's basically cloudless precipitation- it forms in the air when it's _just that cold out_. Pretty common around the poles, can occasionally be found elsewhere. By pictures, it looks literally like someone threw a couple bucketfuls of silver glitter into the air, and it hasn't fallen to the ground yet.

Mythology notes:

_Sedna_ \- just as in the story, Sedna is an Inuit goddess of the sea and the underworld, and is the mother of the animals in their mythology. Legend varies, but essentially her father threw her out of their boat for one reason or other, and when she clung to the side he chopped her fingers off (or her hands froze and they broke off) and she sank to the bottom of the ocean. Her fingers became the seals, whales, and other sea beasties the Inuit depended on for survival. She's also known in some areas of the Arctic as Sila, who controls storms from the bottom of the sea.

In-story, Sedna and North are still at the courtship part of their relationship, stalled because she doesn't want to leave her ocean and he can't leave his workshop.

_Wendigo_ \- Also primarily Inuit legend, they're human- or start out that way- and turn into a monster due to a cannibalistic curse. Lots of different legends on these things, but most of them agree it's a lanky, 15-foot tall humanoid with glowing eyes, large yellow teeth (fangs), and generally a coat of matted fur. Alternatively, it can be a lanky, 15-foot tall humanoid with glowing eyes, large yellow teeth (fangs) and more bones showing through its skin than a 6-foot tall, 95 pound starvation victim. Also, they eat people.

In real life, the Wendigo story might have come about from some poor unfortunate being reduced to eating people (a la the Donner party) in order to survive a brutal Canadian winter. Then going insane from what they had to do. Back in the day (as in, 20th century) people still believed, seriously, in the Wendigo, and one man and his son were sentenced to prison for murder- because they believed they were killing Wendigos-to-be. This happened in 1907, by the way... Jack and his son Joseph Fiddler.

_Sympathetic Magic_ \- Lots of different people saying lots of different things about this, so I'm going to generalize, here. Basically, the idea is if you have something that used to belong to someone- like their hair, or their nail clippings, or even their snot or spit- you can use that something to influence them, or- again, depending on who's saying what- even control their minds. Getting someone's hair or nails is an important part of making a voodoo doll, because otherwise, according to the magic (and my internet research) you're basically just stabbing the magical equivalent of a beanie baby.

This is my explanation for why Easter getting wrecked led to _all_ the Guardians getting depowered; Pitch had the teeth, he planted a type of suggestion, and thus everyone who'd ever lost a tooth had doubts, which the lack of Easter eggs only confirmed. Remember, even Jamie was ready to disbelieve, and he'd seen the Guardians in his bedroom (and seen Bunny chased by his dog, too).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is just rushing on. There might be a bit more time slippage, just to sum up some basic stuff, so we can get to the fun part either late chapter five, or early chapter six. Also, I'm sorry if this ended up being a little short, I blame the mythology notes.


	6. Chapter Five

Everything had settled down, as Aster knew they would. He relaxed into his post-Easter routine, with one difference. He kept getting visitors, and they weren't always Jack.

Tooth and Sandy dropped by at least once a week, and North dropped by on a semi-frequent basis. They managed to each visit him more in one month than they'd done in the previous two centuries. He generally felt obligated to at least visit Tooth and North at their places now and then; Sandy, living on a kind of magic island floating in the sky, was a bit harder to track down with any frequency.

Jack was the most frequent visitor. Half the time he was content just to relax on one of the hills, talking with Aster while the Pooka experimented with painting techniques. The other half, he typically prodded the Pooka into races, either by hook or by crook.

Either way, whenever Jack visited, Aster made sure to feed the bloke. Some of that skinny was inevitable, him being a winter spirit and all, but some of it could be smoothed out.

Each visit also saw an increase in their physical comfort with each other. Not that they did much of anything, but Aster counted it as a win when he was able to sling one arm around Jack's shoulders, and not have his fur frosted when the galah jumped in surprise. They even wrestled, now and then, when Jack's prodding for races involved stealing one of Aster's goggies.

Aster always won the wrestling matches. It wasn't even difficult.

He knew, _knew_ that the other Guardians had noticed how close he and Jack were getting, and he also knew they had their pet theories.

Tooth thought, like as not, that the friendship was Aster's attempt to make up for Jack's three hundred years alone. She probably worried that, once the Pooka had calmed down and stopped feeling guilty, he'd drop Jack like a hot stone- or chunk of dry ice, whichever.

Sandy probably thought it was more like a dam breaking, the two similar personalities finally giving in and relaxing into friendly, sibling-like squabbling. The only things he'd be worried about were the inevitable arguments, that they'd use their knowledge of each other to jab a knife in the sore spots of each other's psyches, do some real damage.

North, now, he was the one who likely had the best idea of what was going on. After their rocky start, and in between poking about which holiday was better, Aster had told the inventor more about Pooka traditions than anyone else. Typically while tipsy. North had a fondness for vodka, and didn't understand other people might not have the same tolerance.

Aster hadn't told North about the Heartsong- for one, they'd talked more before Aster had first heard Jack's Song, and for another, that was, in his opinion, a mite more personal than a human's Name- but the man did know a little about Pooka courtship. Just a smidge. So, if and when North found out about Jack's shiny new, Pooka fur blanket, the man would have more than a clue. In effect, he'd have most of the puzzle, and a good idea of what the picture was supposed to be.

Wouldn't that be fun? It'd only been what, four months, five, since the whole fight with Pitch, but North had practically adopted Jack as a son. Or grandson, maybe. And yeah, Aster was adult enough to admit it rankled a bit; Jack was _his_ , and he didn't like anyone else having a claim to the bloke.

Jack had accepted a room in the Warren, at least, even if he hadn't taken anyone else up on that offer. That much, at least, was Aster's.

The room smelled like him, a bit like that first crisp, autumn day when the leaves had changed and everything was gilt with silver, until the sun rose and burnt the frost away. A bit like falling snow, too, which Aster had always thought smelt a little like mint.

He'd always liked mint.

But no, Aster wasn't looking forward to the confrontation when North found out. The man had been a bandit before becoming Santa Claus, and to put it bluntly even the kindest of bandits were killers. North had been a very good bandit, a prince of the breed in fact, and if he hadn't killed as many people as he could, he hadn't let _everyone_ live either.

To be fair, mostly he'd killed in fighting, where it was kill or die, or he'd taken out really nasty people, and rescued their victims. Still.

North was good enough that even now, centuries away from his old habits, he could probably give Aster a good run for his money. Maybe better than merely good; North wasn't the only one who'd relaxed and stopped practicing because their skills were the only thing keeping them alive on the battlefield.

Aster did not want to deal with an angry, overprotective North.

So when the man himself arrived in the Warren, he couldn't help but tense up.

A lot.

"So," North said. He folded his hands behind his back, and moved to look out over the egg fields, where the egg-plants grew.

Mostly, there weren't any goggies about, just the ones Aster would practice designs on. That was part of why he was so busy in the weeks up to Easter; until his goggies had been treated, they really did have a best before date on them.

"G'day mate." He couldn't help but flatten his whiskers. "You look right serious."

"Ja. Am visiting Jack, when I am seeing a blanket. I ask, and he tells me you made it for him." North frowned, his heavy eyebrows shadowing his eyes. "More, he is telling me that you make this blanket from your fur, is explaining the color."

Aster cleared his throat, and looked away. "Well... yeah."

"Are you so very lonely?" North murmured.

One ear twitched. Then, very slowly, Aster turned to look at him. " _That's_ what you think of me? Of this?"

The Cossack drew himself up to his full height, but Aster matched him. When the human opened his mouth to speak, the Pooka beat him to it.

"Belt up," he snapped. "Bloody oath1 but this isn't because of _loneliness_. I happen to _like_ Jack. He's a good-"

"Child," North cut in. "Is younger, much younger, than you, than I, than any of us! Younger than age of majority!"

"In modern day America," Aster agreed, fists clenched. "But he- he became a spirit three hundred years ago, so technically he's three-hundred-and-seventeen. Might be three and nineteen, dunno if he's counting exact years. And back then, it's amazing he wasn't _married_ at sixteen." It happened, especially back then, when you never thought it possible to meet your Name.

North huffed, but didn't have an effective counter. It was the truth, after all. Besides, among spirits, age didn't matter as much as power did. A young and powerful spirit could be considered adult, when an old and weak spirit might be relegated to the proverbial kid's table.

One thing everyone had to agree on, at least now, was that Jack was a strong spirit, strong enough to be a Guardian even with a tiny belief base.

Maybe that would change as the years went on, but maybe it wouldn't. Either way, in the here and now, Jack was an _adult_ , and that was all that mattered.

"Прости2, my friend," North said. "Forgive me, I... I know better. I should not have said as I did."

"Yeah, well. I know you're fond of the blighter." Aster paced away a few steps, then back. "I do like Jack," he said, calmer now. "He's... I don't know. He makes me happy, and not just by cheating with the snowballs."

North snorted, and scratched his nose, as if that could hide his smile. "He is cheerful," he agreed. "Is very surprising, but very pleasing. But you seek more than friendship; this is what the blanket you make tells me."

Well, here it was. "Yeah," he said. "I do."

"You are attracted to Jack? You are Pooka, he is human. Am thinking, this is surprise, yes?"

"It's happened," he said. The muscles in his neck were winched tight, it felt like. Just when were the threats of skinning and slicing going to happen? The waiting was worse than the yelling would be. "And he's got his points."

North snorted, and shrugged one shoulder. "You should not be telling these points to _me_. But you think, Jack will be fond of you? In way you are fond of him?"

Aster's shoulders sagged, and his ears dropped down. "Don't know. Figured I'd give him the option. Hope, and all." He was the Guardian of Hope. It suited that, in this, all he had was hope.

Hope that Jack would accept his suit, that Jack wouldn't be too upset when he found out Aster had known about the Heartsong for a few months now, that they'd be able to make a proper go of it and Jack would stay in the Warren more than he didn't.

North clapped one hand down on Aster's shoulder, and squeezed gently. "My friend, I think you set a good course. And I am hoping you will be happy, very happy."

"What," he managed. "Not going to show me a shovel and explain how you'll whack me a good one with it if I muck up?"

"You have already imagined this talk, so I need not repeat it." The Cossack grinned. "Besides, my reputation, it is enough. You know it, I know it, and we shall speak no more about it."

Oh, good, no detailed explanation of skinning techniques. "Well, I'm not going to argue with that."

North looked over the field again, and clapped Aster on the shoulder again. "Моё судно на воздушной подушке полно угрей3."

What? "Sometimes I think you say that stuff just to confuse me," Aster groused.

"What, me? Do that? You are mad, Bunny. Is just another sign why Christmas is better, Guardian of Christmas is not mad."

"You're bloody starkers is what you are."

North shook his head and pulled out a snow globe. "Is time for me to go. I have more talks to give."

Aster nodded, and hopped a few feet down the hill to gather up some goggies, before he paused. "Yeah? To who?"

"Who?" The Cossack laughed, and tossed the snow globe. "Why, is Jack's turn for talk, of course!"

Wait, what? It was too late to stop North, though; the man had already gone through the portal.

He should follow, stop the man from talking to Jack, especially about _this_ , but...

What was the worst that could happen? It wasn't like North was going to warn Jack about breaking _Aster's_ heart, would he? No, of course not. Probably more like a warning of things that'd poke at half-healed bruises of a mental nature.

* * *

"Ah, Jack!" North waded through the snow, making his way with brute force. "Is good to see you out and about. Was it you that called the storm?"

Jack scrubbed at the back of his neck, and laughed. "You know, I don't know. Maybe. Could have just been the weather patterns, though, I don't really mess with those. Bad things happen when you do." Like six months of bone dry winter, ending with six days of blizzards.

In Morocco.

In contrast, the snow squall that had hit the North Pole for the last two days was nothing, really. The fact that it'd started more or less exactly when he woke up from a bad dream didn't mean anything. And overall, it hadn't caused anyone any trouble; the yeti had to shovel snow and Jack had to climb out his loft window if he wanted to leave his house, so what? It hadn't interfered with airplanes or Santa's rounds- which wouldn't happen for a few months yet anyways- and as far as he knew, there weren't any humans wandering around in the area, either.

"Ah, well, was nothing." North flicked his fingers, and grinned. "But come, I am hoping you have time for speech before going to visit friends."

"What do you want to talk about, then?" Jack asked. Unlike the Cossack, he walked along the surface of the snow, leaving barely a footprint behind.

"Inside, where it is warmer."

Well, the Workshop was warmer, and louder. Jack waved at Phil, and followed in the big man's footsteps as he led the way towards his office- and then further down the hall. "Hey, uh, where we going?"

"Promised you tour, months ago," North said. "Is late, but I feel in my belly is time."

"In your belly, huh." The winter spirit grinned and shook his head. He wasn't as annoyed as Bunny was about North's hunches, but maybe given another century or two...

And how awesome was that? He was expecting a friend's habit to be annoying in a century or two, expecting that North would _still_ be his friend that far down the road. Just thinking about it made his breath catch and his stomach clench up, like when he'd first seen swing dancing. Damn, but if only he'd been able to dance with people then.

Ah, well, he'd learnt how to dance alone, and he'd practiced a few moves. If, for some reason, North ever felt the need to throw a dance party, Jack would not be caught flat footed.

Though, if there were as many guests as for Jack's housewarming, he wouldn't be caught at all. Bunny probably wouldn't mind company.

"Here, I wish to show you my collection first," North said. He shoved open a large, double door, and walked into a square room, empty but for rack after rack of weaponry hung up on the walls.

"Wow," Jack murmured. The floor was wood, sanded smooth beneath his feet, and the space was big enough it was probably used for practice. Mostly there were swords and knives on the racks, though there were a few maces, morning stars, and even a lance. Only the lance looked decorative.

"Been collecting these a long time, haven't you?"

"Ja, ja. My friend, I wish to speak with you on a matter of some, how you Americans say, delicatessen?"

Jack's lips twitched. "I think you mean delicacy." He also thought North fuddled the English language for fun, because there were times when the man spoke perfectly, with only the slightest of accents.

"Yes, with the delicacy. Shut the doors, please?"

Well, why not? Jack swung them closed, and turned back to face the Cossack. "So, what's this about?"

North reached up and lifted down a Russian sword. Jack squinted at it. "That's not a cavalry sword," he murmured.

The Cossack must have heard him, because he laughed. "No. Is Caucasian Shashka, very unique." He swung the sword back and forth a few passes, and laughed.

Jack supposed in Soviet Russia, swords wielded you. "It looks awesome, but what's this about?"

North planted the tip of the sword in the wood floor, right between his boots, and leaned on the hilt. "Bunny."

The winter spirit stopped pondering how long it'd take to smooth out that pockmark in the floor, and looked up. "What about him?"

"Bunny has been friend for many, many centuries," North said. "Sometimes I am thinking I know him best. Know each other longest, longer than we know Sandy, or Tooth, or you. With me so far?"

"Yeah. Not sure where the heavy weaponry comes in, but sure."

North stared down at his sword, but it didn't look like he was seeing it. "Long time, am seeing him lonely. Am seeing him withdraw from world, from friends. Some blame on me, yes, because I allow this withdrawal, but mostly, on him being last of his kind."

"You mean there were more giant rabbits?" Jack asked.

"You should ask Bunny."

He made a mental note to do just that. "Okay. But- but he's happy now, right?"

"Ja, he is happy, is making very happy being with you." North lifted the sword, and began going over the blade. Jack had watched enough military... _stuff_... inspections and things, back when swords were still considered useful armament, to know North was looking for nicks and scratches that could weaken the metal over time.

"But, is how he is being happy."

"How he's... What, he has to be happy in a certain way?" Jack caught himself before he started floating, or called a storm or something. "Come on, North, happy's a good thing!"

"I agree, happy is good! But, am noticing you have blanket of Pooka fur."

"Pooka?"

"This blanket, is not only thing Bunny gives you. You tell me he makes you room in Warren, and you are happy yourself for this, even though you not wish room in Workshop." North huffed, and mock-scowled. "Is hurting my feelings."

"How can Phil kick me out when I'm being annoying if I _live_ here?" Jack asked. He began tossing his staff from hand to hand. "Anyways, back to the point. Bunny being happy."

"Ja. Bunny..." North sighed. "Bunny has been alone, and lonely, and never looked to give gifts to others. Gifts are... special, in Pooka culture. Mostly, are between parent and child, or brother and sister. Family."

He was not, absolutely not going to sulk at the thought that Bunny might think of him as his kid, or little brother. For one thing... Yeah, no, there wasn't any 'thing', because he wasn't sulking, and Bunny didn't think of him that way anyways! They were friends.

"You said mostly," Jack pointed out, wrenching his thoughts away from the sulking he wasn't doing.

North nodded, and set the point of the sword back in the floor. "I did. When not between family, gifts are for courtship."

Jack fumbled his staff, and winced when it hit the ground. Tingles up and down his back... Wait, what? " _Courtship_?"

"As I said." North pointed one finger at Jack. "Blanket, especially. Other gifts might be from getting used to human traditions, but blanket? Of own fur? Bah! Can only be courtship, Pooka way of saying is serious!"

"Bunny's been _courting_ me?"

"Is what I say."

"But I'm human!"

North paused, and stared at Jack. "What is your point, please?"

Jack flailed a bit, waved his hands around his head. "W-well, you only court someone you're attracted to, and- and he should be looking at rabbits! Not shaved monkeys!"

"Shaved...?"

"Besides, he's always going on about how skinny I am, and how cold I look, and he keeps yelling at me when I perch on my staff. I fly! I'm not going to fall off and hurt myself!"

North began to chuckle. Jack ignored him in favor of snatching up his staff, and pacing back and forth. No, no way, Bunny could _not_ be courting Jack. Sure, they'd known each other- _of_ each other- all the way back in '68. Technically, they'd known each other forty-four years, give or take a couple months. Much less technically, they'd only started talking the past, what, five months? Even human couples didn't go that fast!

Well, usually they didn't.

And in _his_ day-

Woah, okay, stop, hold your horses Jack.

He spun to face North. "Please, lie if you have to, but please tell me I didn't just think the phrase 'in my day'."

Dear old Santa Claus promptly burst into laughter. "Courtship goes differently in time you are young?"

"I can't use that phrase, North! It makes me sound like an old foggy!"

North made a show of tapping one finger against his chin and thinking. "But are you not over three hundred years? Would that not make you old?"

"I don't even know how to play cribbage!"

"What does card game have to do with age?"

Jack spluttered, and sliced his staff through the air. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. But- but Bunny? He can't... He just can't, okay!"

North straightened up, and his amusement dropped away. "You do not return his feelings?"

What feelings? There were no feelings! Bunny couldn't have them for Jack, end of story! "He's my friend," Jack said. He set his feet and clung to his staff with both hands. "Probably my best friend, but I- we're not the same species, it's never- I mean, it's not that... Well, you know what I mean!"

North muttered something in Russian. It sounded annoyed. "Is because he is furry?"

"What does _that_ have to do with _anything_?"

North raised his eyebrows. "Well, you are so unhappy with idea, am thinking is because of species, yes?"

"No." Jack huffed. "He's... Bunny is Bunny, end of story. My _objection_ , North, is because- wait. This is a shovel talk, isn't it?" He straightened up, to the point his feet left the ground. "You're giving me a shovel talk with a sword!"

"Ja, I am!" North swiped the sword through the air. "Bunny is good friend, and fond, very fond, of boy I consider family! And you, boy I consider family, can hurt my very good friend without even thinking of it! So I worry, and I wish to give speech warning you to be careful!" He lowered the sword, and he held out one hand. "Jack, if you feel none of the fondness to Bunny... don't break his heart. He has been hurt so much, here." And he pressed his fingers to his chest.

Jack clenched his eyes shut. This wasn't happening. It wasn't possible. They were friends, they... "I need to think," he rasped.

"I thought you might," North said. Jack listened to the man's footsteps, to the quiet sound of the sword being put back on the wall. "Do not be hasty, yes? I am fond of the both of you, I do not wish either family or friend to be in pain."

Little late for that, but he got points for trying. "I'm going back to- I need to think. North, I'm sorry, I promise I won't be hasty, but I need to think."

If the man hadn't opened a window for him, Jack didn't know if he'd have been able to get through the Workshop without falling over. Once he was outside, the Wind caught him, which was good, great, because he could barely see where he was going.

"Home," he gasped.

Home wasn't far away, and it was such a relief to close the door behind him. Jack leaned his staff in one corner, and then staggered to the back room. Back when he'd been human, in the wood house, the back room had been his parents' bedroom. Now, in his house of snow and ice, it was his.

The blanket was draped over the bed. Jack stopped in the doorway and just stared at it. He'd spent more time wrapped up in that thing than he currently cared to remember. What had he been thinking, that something so precious was _just_ a gift between friends? A sign of trust? Had he even _thought_ about it?

It was two steps from the door to the bed, and he fell diagonally across the mattress. The blanket was soft beneath his cheek, and smelt like Bunny and the Warren. Clover, a slight hint of floral based paint, a husky note that made him think of _actual_ rabbits, and something that was just _Bunny_.

Bunny had made him this blanket. How? _When_? Jack knew just how long it took to knit something like a scarf, he'd helped his mother often enough when he'd been younger! Something this size... It must've taken him months, unless magic had been involved.

Why? Why would Bunny have made this for him? Was North right? Had Bunny- even then, days after they'd started talking without fighting- even then?

Jack rolled over, and rolled up his sleeves. The frost on his arms sparkled, looking bright and cheerful and nothing like how he felt. He scraped his wrist clean, and then stared at the Name.

"Damn it," he muttered. "And damn you! If I just knew who you were-"

Except he didn't. He never had. It wasn't fair. If he knew who his Name was, he'd have a _reason_ , a good, solid one, for why he and Bunny wouldn't work out.

And if Bunny... if he'd found his whatever- giant rabbits, Pooka as North called them, didn't have Names. Jack already knew that; he'd complained a bit about changing attitudes towards Names, and the damn kangaroo had replied that his species hadn't found mates that way. Anyways, if Bunny had found _his_ soul mate, he sure wouldn't have been looking at Jack.

It wasn't fair. Jack traced his fingers over the black marks that made up his Name, and then frosted it over again. Three hundred years of looking for him, and who knew how long for Bunny? Obviously, neither of them had found what they were looking for.

The sad thing was... If he hadn't had that Name on his wrist, would he have felt a second's reluctance at the thought of- of a relationship with the Easter Bunny? He didn't think so.

God, he needed therapy or something. He was mourning someone he'd never met, something he'd never had, and the stupid thing was that if he had met his Name, he probably would've run the other way. Bunny, well, the rabbit was his friend, and was offering him something precious.

Bunny was offering him a choice.

Jack could _choose_ to love Bunny. Or not. No pre-destiny, no set path, no ultimate destination. He didn't have to search for things about the rabbit to like, because- because Bunny wasn't his Name. He wouldn't be with someone who was only with him because they _had_ to be.

Slowly, as slow as the glaciers he'd used to play on, Jack pulled the corners of the blanket around him. It was warm, and smelt like Bunny, and it was soft. Maybe, very soon, he could be hugged by the real Bunny, and not just rely on his imagination.

And if he cried a little, well, that was alright, wasn't it? You had to mourn, when you gave up a dream.

* * *

1\. Bloody oath- That's the truth.

2\. Прости- Sorry, inf version. Russian translation from http://www.omniglot.com/language/phrases/russian.php

3\. Моё судно на воздушной подушке полно угрей- It means "My hovercraft is full of eels" and apparently head-canon says North tosses random phrases out in Russian, just to see the confusion. The wackier the better. I have no idea why this even got put in. A weird, and wonderful, thing when the characters hijack the story, isn't it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where did the sad come from? No, seriously, this is supposed to be a happy, fluffy, get together thing.
> 
> Obviously this isn't something I'm going to really touch on in-story, but having a soulmate? That must really SUCK. One person you're destined to be with for the rest of your life, all you have to do is find them, if you fall in love with anyone else you must be crazy because YOUR SOULMATE'S NAME IS WRITTEN ON YOUR WRIST WHY ARE YOU GIVING UP ON THEM OMG?!?!
> 
> And of course, if you fall in love and end up with someone other than your soulmate... Does that mean you're giving up the chance to be with the One Perfect Person?
> 
> Humans in this universe must need a LOT of therapy, is what I'm trying to get at.


	7. Chapter Six

Aster pounded on Jack's door, muttered a curse, and kicked it open.

The door hit the table, and then shattered into shards of ice. He ignored them, they didn't matter, nothing mattered except getting to Jack and finding out why his Heartsong had stopped singing with joy, and faded into a mournful dirge.

That? That was not supposed to happen. Just what had North _said_ to him?

The bedroom door, at least, opened when he tried the latch. In retrospect, he probably should have tried that with the front door, too- but Aster stopped thinking about it when he saw Jack, curled up and wrapped in his blanket. He could smell salt water, tears, and hear Jack's occasional, shuddering breath.

"Jackie?" His ears fell back, and he leaned forward, one paw braced against the mattress. He brushed Jack's hair away from his face. "Frostbite?"

Okay, really, what had North said? If he was responsible for this- Aster didn't know what he'd do. Something that'd end in Nicholas St. North being in a great deal of pain, most like.

Jack sniffed, and opened his eyes. It took him a minute to focus on the Pooka leaning over him, but when he did, his reaction... was not everything Aster could have hoped for. He recoiled, flailing in his cocoon as he tried to scramble backwards without losing the blanket.

Aster cringed back. Oh, well, that was nice. North must've told Jack about the courtship, and instead of being happy... He could back off, he _would_ , he'd be Jack's friend and nothing more, if that would make him happy. Anything to stop those tears, and that dirge.

"Ow-yar-goin1, mate?"

Jack licked his lips, and wiped his cheeks cry with a corner of his blanket. Aster tried not to shiver at the sight; however else Jack felt about being courted by what amounted to a giant, humanoid rabbit, he still liked the blanket. Enough to get some comfort from it, apparently.

"I've been better," he admitted. "Bunny? Do you... Can I talk to you?"

"That's what I'm here for," he admitted. Time to go through the bushes, instead of beating around them. Maybe Jack would forgive him one day.

"What, did North send an elf to tell you?" Jack swiped at his cheeks again. "Like, like that tie-dye elf?"

"That monster's not allowed back in the Warren until he stops trying to eat the Sentinel eggs," Aster said.

"Aw, but he likes it there. He's all colorful and the elves here pick on him now."

"Jack."

The winter spirit sobered, and managed to sit up without unwrapping himself. "North... He said you've been courting me."

Okay, yeah, Nicholas would be limping, very soon. "It's that bad a thing?" Aster asked, shrinking in on himself.

"No. I don't know." Jack sighed, and then frowned. "Did you kick my door down?"

"Er..."

"Do you have any idea how long it took to get the ice just right for that thing?" He started wiggling free of the blanket, scowling. "Bunny, why would you _do_ that?"

"I was worried, mate." Aster kept his ears down and whiskers back. Might be it'd help, might be it wouldn't, but it was better than turning and running the way he wanted to. At least the Heartsong was easing up a bit on the dirge.

"You- cottontail!" Jack kept the blanket draped over his legs, but was free of it now. " _You're_ going to help me make a new one."

"Suits." He eased closer, and rested one bent knee on the mattress. "Mind if I sit?"

"Close the door before you get too cold."

Point. He was shivering, and it wasn't all nerves.

With the door closed, the room seemed both bigger and smaller. A mite bit more space to stretch out in, but closed in. Aster sat down on the edge of the bed and clasped his paws in his lap.

He heard Jack take a deep breath, and felt the mattress shift as Jack moved to sit next to him. He jumped, a little, when he felt the blanket get draped over his shoulders. He breathed in, and smelt Jack, and his own fur, and their scents mingled together in the knit.

It made his stomach hurt, and his heart ache, because the way things were going that'd never happen for real and true.

He looked over, and Jack was sitting next to him, almost close enough to touch, the other half of the blanket around _his_ shoulders. The bloke was slumped over and staring at his bare feet, or maybe at the floor beyond them.

Like this, Aster thought, Jack looked so small. When he was up and moving you could almost forget that, forget that a strong breeze regularly carried him off and forget that he could curl up in a chair with room to spare on the seat. When he was laughing and floating around, he looked strong enough to take on the world, a joyful fiend that needed no one's protection.

At the moment, all Aster wanted to do was wrap Jack up in his arms and never, ever let go.

Jack looked up, the tearstains frozen on his cheeks. " _Why_?"

"Gonna need a bit more there, mate," Aster admitted.

The winter sprite gestured between the two of them.

Aster swallowed around the lump in his throat. This was it, then. If Jack didn't feel betrayed first, he'd be angry, and if he wasn't angry he still wouldn't want anything to do with Aster. Maybe in a century or two he'd calm down and be willing to talk again. Maybe, in a century or two, he'd stop feeling so betrayed.

"I can hear your emotions," he admitted. "Since..." Since forever, really, but mostly... "Since that first real gathering, after Pitch."

Jack hunched his shoulders, and held onto the edge of the bed. "Is that why you started talking to me?"

"Yes," he admitted. Looking back on those first few days, looking desperately for something, anything about Jack he could tolerate, he wanted to hit himself for being so _stupid_. It was _Jack_. Jack, who, like his frost, was beautiful and delicate and at the same time he was like glacial ice, tenacious and strong. They'd rubbed each other wrong, because Aster was stubborn and Jack was lonely, and with both those problems solved there wasn't anyone Aster would rather be around.

Obviously, Jack felt differently.

The winter spirit stared at him, his arms trembling very slightly and threads of ice spreading from where he held the mattress. The air was getting colder, too; their breath puffed out in white fog.

"So you don't really care about me," Jack whispered.

What? "No!" Aster almost cracked his back, he turned so fast to face Jack properly. He grabbed the Frostbite's nearest hand, and ignored the ice crystals that immediately formed on his fur. "No, that's not-"

"You just said-!" Jack pulled away, and clenched his fist. "The only reason you talked to me! I thought-!"

Aster caught his breath. To his ears, it sounded almost like a sob. "No, Jackie. It's why I sought you out the first time, sure. I figured, friends, that makes sense, I can live with that, and then it turned out I couldn't. It wasn't enough."

"You gave me the blanket," Jack whispered. He closed his eyes. The tears immediately froze, before he could swipe them away.

"Yeah."

"North- he said it was important. More than the room, or the eggs you'd finished with, or any of the rest."

"It is," Aster said. Well, he hadn't been kicked out yet. He didn't know if that was a good sign, or not.

"That was, what, a week? You decided friendship wasn't enough after a single week of- of talking to me?"

Well, when you put it that way...

Aster was a Pooka. When you could hear your partner's emotions, you didn't have to take as long before you were courting, and ready to place your heart in their hands. Humans took longer, he knew that. But...

"Jack, it took me three days."

Jack literally stopped breathing. If not for the way his pulse jumped in his throat, Aster would've worried his heart had stopped beating, he was so still. For a good, long minute, he didn't move so much as a millimeter.

Then, he gasped, and started breathing again.

"Three-?"

"To decide I wanted more," Aster confirmed. He plucked at the yarn beneath his fingers. "To- I want you happy."

Jack bit his lip, and quirked one eyebrow. "Like family or...?"

Aster plucked at the yarn again, and then straightened up. "Can I just-? For a minute." He tugged, pulling the blanket off Jack's shoulders, and folded it. Not his best job, it was barely better than being wadded up into a ball, but.

He handed it back to Jack, but kept his paws on it when the young man took it. " _Into your hands I place my heart_ ," he said, the old language heavy on his tongue. When Jack frowned, he said it again, in English this time. "Into your hands I place my heart."

Jack's eyes brightened, and then darkened with realization. "Oh. You... Like that, huh?"

"Exactly like that."

Jack blushed frost, who knew? The stuff turned his cheeks white, and stiffened his hair into spikes. Aster grinned, and reached over to brush out Jack's hair. Then just kept combing his claws through the soft strands.

Jack leaned into the caresses, and then his bottom lip started to tremble. Aster's eyes widened, and he listened to the Heartsong, but that was no help, it was a muddle of emotions and he didn't know which was strongest. The joy? The sorrow? The amusement?

And by all the stars in the sky, _why was Jack crying_?

Then the Frostbite fell forward and hid his face in Aster's ruff. Still confusing, but at least he got to hug his Heartsong, do his best to curl over and around him. He crooned into Jack's ear, wordless notes meant for comfort.

Finally, too soon, Jack pulled away. He sniffled, but managed to grin. It was wobbly, but it was a grin. "So you talked to me because you could hear my emotions, and then you went and fell ears over fluffy tail, that right?"

"About the sum of it." Aster tugged, and Jack fell back against his chest. It took only a second to get the blanket more or less shook out, and wrapped around the both of them again. "So, North talked to you?" He ground his teeth together, and wondered just how hard it'd be to sneak into the Workshop. Revenge was best when it was sneaky and unexpected.

Maybe Jack could give him pointers.

"He was worried I'd hurt you," Jack murmured. Somehow, they managed to tip over until they were lying on the bed, Aster once more curled around the smaller spirit. "He doesn't want you to get hurt. I don't either."

Well, maybe North could live.

"As long as you're happy, Jack," he whispered, listening as his Heartsong's breathing slowed to sleep. He brushed a paw over Jack's hair, and hummed in contentment. The despair was gone from the Heartsong, now, and it had finally settled into a quiet joy.

With the Song soothing him, he was able to fall asleep himself.

* * *

Jack woke up, and for a moment couldn't understand why he was drooling on Bunny's shoulder. He understood what was happening- Bunny was curled around him, he was using Bunny's shoulder for a pillow, and he drooled in his sleep so now there was wet fur- but he didn't get _why_.

Then he remembered his little breakdown from the night before, and groaned. Well, that could have gone better, couldn't it?

On the other hand, no one had ended up frozen, no one had thrown a punch, and no one had said anything too hurtful to take back.

Jack was not under the impression that Bunny would have done any of those things. No, it would've been all him, which wouldn't have been fair.

A bit weird that giant, bipedal rabbits- okay, Pooka- could hear emotions. Was it, like, a heartbeat thing? Some kind of psychedelic empathy? And what sort of thing triggered it?

And why, of all people, had this whacko empathy focused on _Jack_? Weren't there better targets around?

He could ask Bunny when he woke up. For the moment- apart from the drool- everything was just about perfect.

And it gave him a chance to think. Jack ran his fingers through the longer fur on Bunny's cheek.

Never mind everything else; did he want a relationship with the rabbit? Sorry, Pooka.

Bunny was uptight and fanatic about his holiday- but Jack understood now. He'd finally seen the effort that went into getting the eggs ready, and next year he knew he'd be helping get them set up, too. That could be fun. Maybe Bunny would even agree to a _light_ dusting of snow.

He was stubborn, and held a grudge- seriously, forty-four years and still upset about that blizzard in '68?- and smart, and occasionally funny, but he was so serious most of the time Jack just felt like burying him in happy inducing snowflakes. Seriously, that much stress? Led to an ulcer. He didn't think the rabbit would enjoy vomiting blood.

Jack stopped brushing Bunny's cheek, and dared to run his fingers over his bedmate's ear. The rabbit sniffed, one arm tightened around Jack's back, and then he relaxed. So, good, yes, okay to keep going?

There weren't any protests, so apparently it was okay...

Could he put up with Captain Uptight? In a romantic relationship? Because friendship, sure, he'd been managing alright with friendship, he just poked at Bunny until he popped and relaxed, or tried to chase Jack down to strangle him. But romance? It wasn't like they could go to a restaurant, or to the movies. Well, okay, they could go to the movies, but they ran the risk of being seen by kids and walked through by adults, and what sort of movies would they watch, anyways?

He shifted his hand, and began raking his fingers through the thick fur on Bunny's neck. Well, one thing was for sure, different species or not he was being courted by a looker. Those were some fine muscles under the fur.

What could Bunny possibly see in _him_? Somehow, Jack had the feeling teeth "as white as freshly fallen snow" didn't cut it.

He could always ask later.

And there was going to be a later. So, no more thinking about it, apparently he was going to try for a romantic relationship. If they didn't work out- Jack couldn't help but glance at his wrist, covered in frost and his sleeve- or if other things... happened... he'd still try for Bunny. Because Bunny was here, and he didn't have to be, able to hear Jack's emotions or not.

There, decision made. He felt better for it.

After a minute, Jack grinned and poked and nudged until Bunny had rolled over onto his back. The rabbit snuffled a bit, but didn't really snore, thankfully. Jack didn't think he'd be able to sleep more than once with someone who _actually_ snored.

He floated up, and shifted until he was hovering over Bunny, their noses inches apart. Huh, that was something. Would they be able to kiss? Would Bunny even _want_ to? Jack was pretty sure kissing was a human only thing, and maybe certain species of fish.

It took about five, maybe six minutes of staring before the rabbit began to shift and wake up. Or maybe it was because he no longer had a human-shaped cold pack to hug, who knew? Either way, Bunny groped a little at the sheets, and scrunched up his nose. He made a few little grunts just before his eyelids fluttered open.

Bunny looked at Jack. He blinked. Then he _really_ woke up.

And screamed.

Jack jumped, which he hadn't even known he could _do_ in midair, and promptly fell. The rabbit flailed a bit under him, but finally calmed down when Jack began to laugh.

"Okay, I was going to say, but this just proves it. You're just a _little_ bit tense." Jack held up one hand, thumb and forefinger millimeters apart. "Only a bit." He rubbed his cheek against Bunny's chest, and chuckled.

"You," Bunny gasped. He tugged on a small handful of hair. "Madman."

"Guilty." Jack rolled off Bunny, and snuggled up against his side. "Time to get up. I think it's almost noon."

The rabbit grunted, and sat up. He glanced at Jack, then away, and nodded. "Right. I, uh, should talk to North."

"Nah. How long do you think it'll take him to notice I'm living in the Warren?"

Jack grinned when Bunny froze, flicked one ear, then turned and grinned. "Yeah?"

"In my room," he cautioned, but Bunny's expression didn't change. "I- yeah."

"I give it a week." Bunny ran a hand over Jack's hair, and then tugged. Jack didn't mind, it meant he got hugs. "Do you want me to take anything ahead, or...?"

"Would it be bad by some weird cultural thing if I asked you to take the blanket with you?" Jack bit his lip. "I'm probably not going to get back until late, I want to check in on the kids by my lake, and normally I ask Phil to keep an eye on it when I'm out."

"You ask... Why?"

At least he didn't sound upset. "What you said earlier, before. About your heart? I don't- if I'm not here, then someone could- so, Phil. He has all the combinations for the safes."

Bunny shook his head, and then cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'll take it ahead. I'll let you in when you're ready."

"The... hearing my emotions thing?" Bunny nodded. "Yeah, be prepared for questions about that."

"I'll do my best, but you're the first person I've ever really talked to about that."

"Huh." Jack leaned forward, and then changed direction at the last second. He bussed the rabbit's cheek, and heroically suppressed the urge to sneeze when the fur tickled his nose.

Bunny swallowed, and then they both got up and folded the blanket. Jack saw him off to the ridge he always used for his tunnels, then turned to go back inside and look at the remains of the door.

He stopped, though, and groaned. Up on its shelf, the Snow Queen's ice orb was glowing.

"Really?" he asked, and looked up at the ceiling. " _Really_?"

* * *

1\. Ow-yar-goin- Really hoping you can guess, but it's the slang version of "How are you going" or how are you doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as in every romance story, we need misunderstandings, the occasional hint of danger, and cuddles.
> 
> See? The angst went away!
> 
> ... for now... Dun dun dun...


	8. Chapter Seven

Fight one Wendigo, and you've fought them all.

Jack swiped the creature's feet out from under it with his staff, danced back to avoid the flailing sapling-trunk arms. Like a sapling, it took a surprising amount of effort to break them.

"You," Jack said, and ducked a thrown rock. "Are very annoying. Seriously. Isn't there a guide book or something you guys have to follow?"

The Wendigo roared, and clawed back onto its feet. This was one of the emaciated versions, fifteen feet tall and probably weighing less than Jack did. It wore a loin cloth- thank _God_ , seriously and _very_ fervently- but nothing else. It skin was stretched so tightly over its bones it might as well have been a walking skeleton, and its eyes, sunken and shadowed as they were, glowed red.

To a human, lost in the woods, it'd be terrifying. The Wendigo, despite its appearance, was horrifically strong and well able to uproot trees and throw them with one arm.

And it liked to play with its dinner. Back in the day (Jack winced internally at the phrase) he'd come across Wendigo eating humans, and the poor meal would still be alive.

In no condition to survive, but alive... so to speak. Jack had always... put those victims out of their misery, bringing the killing cold even in the middle of summer. Someone, somewhere, would probably call it murder, but he'd always considered it mercy.

This one hadn't caught anything to eat before Jack had found it. It'd taken about an hour to ride the Wind to the Northern Ontario forest the Wendigo had formed in, and then another two hours searching the forest to find it. Then the creature had taken one look at him, and bolted. Jack had finally cornered it against a cliff, and all that remained was the disposal.

He ducked another swipe, darted around a tree, and got the beast in the stomach with his staff. It doubled over, claws opening and closing and trying to grab Jack's weapon. Too bad, he was faster and smarter and hadn't fallen for that in over two hundred years.

"Can't you boys follow the rules? It's summer." He jumped up and over the Wendigo when it charged him; it ran headfirst into a tree. "You're a winter spirit. That's why I'm dealing with you. Summer's the wrong time."

In summer, people were supposed to be able to go out into the woods with at least _some_ safety. Jack might've been the Guardian of Fun and all, and a winter spirit, but he knew the reality. Winter was dangerous.

Sometimes, though, you had to turn danger into a game.

He sighed, and swiped the Wendigo's feet out again. It hit the ground with a crash all out of proportion with its weight.

This? Was not dangerous, not for him. And he didn't like playing games with his opponents, even when they were like this. Maybe especially when they were like this, brute animals with nothing but malice in their hearts.

Before the Wendigo could get up, Jack spun his staff in his hands, and brought the butt down onto the creature's chest with all his strength.

The Wendigo's ribcage broke with the sound of shattering ice. For a second, no more, it froze, it's rage-twisted features twitching in what might have been confusion. Then it burst apart, flakes of dirty snow scattering between the trees and already melting.

Pinned to the ground by Jack's staff was a broken ice crystal, brown with old blood. It had cracked into three uneven pieces when he'd killed the Wendigo.

It took a bit of looking before he could find a rock that wasn't covered in moss, or too small to be useful, or too big for him to lift. Once he found it, though, he returned to the pieces and pounded them until they were powder. Only then did he call the Wind to take the ice and scatter it in the ocean.

"There," he said, and planted his staff on the ground.

Behind him, he heard something clatter against a tree root.

Jack spun, staff at the ready- only to realize he was threatening to ice Bunny. He coughed, and straightened up. "Hey Rabbit. What brings you up here?"

Bunny spluttered a moment. "I- you- I heard- but you-" He visibly took himself in hand and shook his head. "I mean, I heard... Well, you know. Thought you were having a blue1. Got here just in time to see you finish that... whatever it was, off."

"Did you come to protect me?" Jack leaned on his staff, grinning. "That's sweet."

The rabbit snorted, and picked up his boomerang from the forest floor. Oh, so that's what hit the roots. "Guess you didn't need it."

"Maybe next time," Jack said. "Though you don't exactly look like a classic knight in shining armor..."

"Yeah, well you're not the typical princess in need of rescue," Bunny snapped.

"Sorry, Mario, the princess is in another castle."

Bunny scowled, and drew himself up to his full height. "Quit mucking around. What was that?"

Jack shrugged, and floated up to perch on the crook of his staff. "A Wendigo, cannibalistic winter spr-urk!"

What? Who? Where- oh. Bunny was hugging him. Pretty desperately too, by the way he was clutching jack tight to his chest.

"You took on some bloody cannibal?" Bunny asked. He might've been trembling. Jack couldn't tell, his feet weren't touching the ground and he'd been snatched off his staff.

"Hey, fight one- pah- fight them all." Jack wiggled until he didn't risk a mouthful of fur just by breathing. "Bunny, hey, I'm okay."

"You've fought _more_ of those things?"

Jack poked his captor in the ribs, and was rewarded by a slight- very slight- easing of the hug. Yay, air. "Yeah, why?"

Bunny looked like he was about to cry, all drooping ears and drooping whiskers and big, sad eyes. "I- mate, I..." He sighed, and tilted his head until their foreheads were pressed together. "That looked right dangerous."

Was he feeling _protective_? Jack couldn't have stopped the rush of glee, or his grin, for the _world_. "Aw, bun-bun, that was nothing." He reached up and tangled his fingers in the rabbit's ruff. Mm, warm fur. He was rapidly getting a thing for that. "They're pretty minor, Wendigo. Not even a challenge."

Bunny gave him an odd look- but oh, right, he could hear Jack's emotions. There would be explanations about that... Huh, maybe now was a good time. "How'd you know about that thing, though?" he asked.

Well, that wasn't fair, Jack had been coming up with his first question. "The Snow Queen," he admitted. "She gave me a- like a crystal ball, I guess, only made out of ice. It lights up when there's a Wendigo around, then I find it and, well, you saw."

If anything, Bunny managed to look even sadder. His _fur_ seemed to be drooping. "How many have you dealt with since getting that thing?"

Ooooh, now Jack got it. "None," he said, and wrapped his legs around the rabbit's waist. Heh, _his_ rabbit now. "That was the first one I've seen in almost a decade. Good thing, too- do you have any idea how rare Ojibwa medicine men are these days?"

Bunny sighed, and shifted his grip so he was no longer putting Jack's ribs in a vice. "You right, though? Didn't look like you got hit, but..."

"I'm the absolute best at this," Jack assured him. "Tell you what, next time there's a Wendigo you can protect me from it, how's that. Make you feel better?" He stopped playing with Bunny's fur, and stuck his thumbs in the corners of the rabbit's mouth, and pulled. It looked like Bunny was grinning... You know, if you were standing on your head, squinting, and maybe nearsighted.

Bunny jerked his head away, and glowered. "Cut that out, you menace. If it's been that long might be there won't _be_ a next one. That'd make me happy."

"Me too," Jack agreed. He went back to playing with Bunny's fur, one hand raking through the stuff on the back of his neck, the other combing through the downy strands on his chest.

Bunny shivered, and moved back a step so he could lean against a tree. "Jack..."

"Shh. I'm trying to canoodle." Jack tilted his head and nuzzled at Bunny's collarbone, the top of his head brushing the rabbit's chin. Huh; he made a mental note, the collarbone was apparently sensitive, it made Bunny shiver. Shivering was good. At least, according to the information gathering Jack had done, in various eras.

He was permanently a teenager, and for a long time he'd been alone. Sometimes- like the sixties, God, he still didn't know what he thought about the sixties- people didn't wait until they were indoors and under the covers before, well...

He knew what sex was. He'd gotten the talk from his father, and now he remembered every awkward moment of it. He'd watched couples over the years, at least those couples who didn't mind doing it outside. Granted, after a certain point he'd always gotten embarrassed and looked away, but still, he knew the mechanics. He even knew how two guys would, well, do it.

This was the first time he had the chance to do _anything_ with someone else, though.

It felt so much better than being alone.

"Canoodle?" Bunny asked, and then chuckled. One of his hands somehow got under Jack's sweater, and pressed against the small of his back.

Jack groaned, and nuzzled Bunny's collarbone again. "Uh, yeah," he said, trying to ignore the way his back was tingling. Amazing how good just having someone's hand pressed to his skin felt. "Canoodle. Dictionary, uh, defines it as-" he paused to press his forehead against Bunny's shoulder and gasp for breath. "Defines it as k-kissing and, and cuddling and- Bun- _ny_..."

Bunny smirked, and raked his claws back down Jack's spine. Jack groaned again, and tightened the grip he had with his legs.

"Like that?"

"Bit more than canoodling," he managed. "Little bit more than, Bunny we're in a forest."

"Shy?" But the rabbit eased off, and got both hands out from under Jack's hoodie. He looked around, and nodded. "Kind of agree with you mate, might be a bit uncomfortable to go further here."

Jack nodded, and pressed his face against Bunny's shoulder. He was shaking, his thoughts scattered on the Wind, and he really, really wanted Bunny to continue doing that thing with his claws, and at the same time he really, really was glad Bunny had stopped.

After a minute, he realized Bunny was nuzzling the top of his head and making a kind of really weird rumbling sound in his chest.

"Are you purring?"

"That a problem?"

No, not really... It was actually kind of nice...

Jack sighed, and turned his head so he was looking at Bunny's neck. "Hey. Grab my staff, let's go back to the Warren. I've got questions for you."

Bunny laughed. "Grab your _staff_?"

"Not like that!"

* * *

Aster kept one eye on his Heartsong, sprawled out beside him, and turned the staff over in his paws.

It looked like a simple sheep herder's crook, at least when he held it. When he rubbed a rough spot with his thumb, Jack shivered.

"You can feel that?" he asked, and passed the staff back. The moment it was in hand, Jack's frost covered the wood in curling swirls of ice.

"Sort of," Jack admitted. "Its not-" He sat up, and visibly groped for words, the fingers on his free hand twitching. "I can feel when it's damaged, but not really anything else."

 "Yeah," Aster murmured. "I think I remember you saying something like that."

"When Pitch broke my staff? It felt a little like someone had stabbed me in the stomach." Jack cradled the staff to his chest, and still managed to smile. "Of course, I can fix it if it gets damaged, and it only hurt for a moment, so, you know, not that bad."

"Uh huh." Aster reached over and cupped Jack's cheek. "So, you had questions?"

Jack nodded, and nuzzled Aster's wrist before pulling back to sit proper. "So why don't you explain how you can hear someone's emotions?"

Aster sighed, and got settled himself. "Well, I hear your emotions as music-"

"Music?"

"Would you hush and let me speak?" He's whiskers twitched, but Jack obediently shut his mouth and pretended to zip it closed. "You daft hoon2. So, I hear your emotions as music. When you're happy, the music is... bouncy, cheerful. When you're sad it's like a dirge. And just now, with that fight-"

"Not much of a fight," Jack muttered. Aster ignored him.

"-you know what a scare chord is? Like that, then the music got all dramatic."

"What kind of instruments?"

Aster raised his eyebrows. "What does it matter? Nothing from here on Earth."

Jack tilted his head to the side. "Huh?"

"I'm not from Earth." Okay, so here was another potential stumbling block. If telling about the Heartsong hadn't driven Jack off, hopefully some of Aster's history wouldn't do the job, either. "I'm a Pooka, last of them, actually." He stretched one leg out and studied his toes.

After a minute, he felt Jack's fingers brush the back of his paw. "I'm sorry," Jack said. "What- it wasn't plague, or-?"

"Pitch," Aster said. "It was Pitch." He licked his lips, and shoved all the old pain back down. He'd mourned them, and it was over, done. He'd tell Jack, but he wouldn't let it tear open the scars. "He- There was a prison, for the Nightmares and Fearlings, and he set them free. Led them. The Pooka... We trained as warriors, sure, but most of us were scholars. I... heard them die."

"Like with..." Jack gestured awkwardly at himself.

"Yeah," Aster admitted. "Well, not exactly like, but... yeah. I could hear them. It was beautiful. Then they were gone."

Jack shuffled closer, and took Bunny's paw in both of his hands. "I'm so sorry. Was it very long ago?"

"About before humans evolved," he admitted.

Jack- paused, and got the oddest expression on his face. "How old are you?"

"Pretty old. I've lost count."

"Uh... huh. Okay then..." The winter sprite squinted at him. "You don't _look_ old... Unless the gray fur is age?"

"I'm supposed to be this color." Aster huffed, and pulled his paw free, folded his arms. "Manny went and tied me to the humans' belief in the Easter Bunny."

"Which you are," Jack said, and shuffled closer.

"Well, yeah, but- you know what I mean."

"I think so." Jack leaned back, bracing himself with his hands. "So you're a Pooka... Got to admit, it sounds better than 'mutated rabbit'."

The joke was weak, but Aster appreciated it. He reached over and squeezed Jack's ankle, then, well, there was no rule saying he had to let go. "Thanks, cobber3."

"Do you do that on purpose? Toss weird Aussie words out to see how confused I get?"

"Might do. Any more questions?"

"Yeah," Jack said, and gestured to himself. "Why me? I mean, you can hear my emotions- how'd _that_ happen?"

Aster rubbed his thumb against Jack's ankle while he thought. "It's... You fit me. I heard you singing, and it all just... fit." Three hundred years they'd fit. He cast about for words to explain that- maybe, if he told Jack about how worried he'd been, how desperately he'd searched, he wouldn't be as upset.

Jack spoke before he could say anything, though. "I'm sorry." He patted Aster's paw, still on his ankle. "For- I know I don't sing very well."

"You'd have sounded better without all the echoes," Aster said. "I thought your voice was nice."

Jack stared, blinked, then went right back to staring. "Okay, you are crazy and I guarantee you will regret that."

"Oi!"

His Heartsong grinned, and then leaned forward. "Okay, questions done. Was there anything else you wanted to do?"

Aster hesitated. There was more they needed to talk about- but maybe it was better to give Jack a bit of time, get used to what he'd been told. And, well, that canoodling had been pretty fun... He grinned, and tilted his head. "You're sleeping in your own bed tonight," he said.

"Yeah, I figured. It's all good though." And with that, he found himself with a lap full of winter spirit, and busied himself with finding out just what made Jack gasp and shiver.

* * *

1\. Having a blue- having a fight or argument.

2\. Hoon- hooligan.

3\. Cobber- close friend, best friend. Mate just means friend.

Scare chord- for those not in the know, a scare chord is the musical cue to be frightened. TV Tropes describes it as "a sudden, sharp sforzando of noise (musically based or not) intended to make viewers jump clean out of their seats". It's soundtrack only, not noise caused by the action on screen. Ironically (?) enough, one of the better places to hear a scare chord is the opening notes of How to Train A Dragon, Forbidden Friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Seriously, I'm just... speeding through these chapters, apparently. I'm going to try to have everything wrapped up by the fourteenth- Valentines day would be an appropriate finish date for a romance, don't you think? 
> 
> Also, despite having been writing since I was five (way more years than I want to think of) this is the closest to smut I've ever written something. Hope it went well.


	9. Chapter Eight

Summer in Burgess reached its height, and then the year began the slow slide towards winter. Jack spent a lot of time with Aster, brainstorming various ways to let other kids know about his existence; the original eight children helped, telling tales, but they couldn't do it all. Even if Cupcake had entered a story writing contest, and won with her tale about the Guardians, with a focus on Jack Frost himself.

It took two weeks for North to realize Jack had moved to the Warren. Phil had to finally tell him. In all fairness, Jack had repaired his house's front door, so it merely looked like he was out whenever North tried knocking. Otherwise, it would have only taken two days.

Aster admitted some surprise, afterward, when the news got around to the other three Guardians. North's only complaint was about Aster 'forgetting' to ask permission to court Jack. Aster had pointed out that North had given the both of them his idea of a shovel talk, so clearly he approved, and besides, Jack's opinion was the one that _really_ counted.

If Tooth had felt any disappointment at the news, she had buried it deep and gotten them 'his and hers' dental care sets. Jack had been less than impressed at getting the 'hers'. Aster had reminded Tooth that his version of brushing involved gnawing tree branches. Tooth had threatened to set Baby Tooth on them- as far as shovel talks went, Aster figured the miniature fairy's was far better, so to speak, than Santa Claus'. Baby Tooth had made it clear that she would gouge Aster's eyes out if he upset Jack.

Jack had apologized for Baby Tooth's behavior, while Tooth herself praised her fairy's creativity.

Sandy had delivered the oddest lecture Aster had ever experienced. Near as he could tell, the once-falling star wanted them to be happy, would be disappointed if they deliberately tried to hurt each other during a fight (which they would have- it was _them_ ) and held grudges instead of making up. Then he threatened to get them an illustrated copy of the Karma Sutra, but had relented when Jack had run off and hid on a glacier for three days.

There were also a few weird visits from three of the winter spirits Jack occasionally associated with; the Snow Queen, Old Man Winter, and General Winter.

Of the three, Aster could tolerate the Snow Queen the most, if only because she had made the shortest visit to the Warren. General Winter had been just as Russian as North, very much a Soviet, and every other word had been in Russki, probably an insult. Old Man Winter had looked like a ninety-nine year old man in the worst of health, had called Aster a brat (and what he'd said about Jack was still infuriating) and had tried to hit both of them over the head with his cane.

Irritating as those three had been, at least they had visited long enough to explain that any meddling with Jack would be regarded with disapproval and ice storms on Easter. Aster supposed it was their way of saying they cared about Jack, as much as they could.

As Jack explained, winter spirits were (normally) happiest alone. Jack was unusual in that manner, desiring the company of people.

As far as Aster was concerned, the various visits were at worst, annoying- that would be the three visiting winter spirits, and Jack was in full agreement there- or amusing and vaguely touching, as their friends' reactions had been. He and Jack were doing great together; their Songs meshed with nary an off note, and listening to the music sent chills down his spine.

The only possible complaint he had, was about Jack's Name.

He still hadn't seen Jack's wrist completely uncovered, no sleeve, no frost, just bare skin and black writing. If he hadn't known Jack had a Name, maybe he would've been content. No Name would have made it a one-sided bond, but he could live with that. It might've meant they wouldn't be able to tie their life forces together, but that wasn't a requirement for a good relationship.

The thing was, he did know Jack had a Name. He didn't know if it was _his_ Name, though. It was entirely possible- highly unlikely, especially after the events of Easter twenty-twelve- that the Name belonged to another spirit. Obviously Jack couldn't read the language his Name was written in.

Well, Aster assumed, anyways. He knew some humans absolutely refused to so much as _talk_ to their Name, seeing it as impossible to be in a romantic relationship with someone they didn't know and didn't care about but were 'predestined to love'. He didn't think Jack was like that; he'd talked about it, now and again, growing up in an era and culture that believed the Name on your wrist was a sign from God, that your significant other was divinely chosen.

So, Jack was with Aster, which suggested the winter spirit couldn't read the Name on his wrist. There were lots of languages on Earth- and a lot more beyond it.

Aster wrote in English these days, but a human's Name was always written in the language of the Name's birth.

He wanted to see Jack's wrist, to know if the black ink characters spelt out E. Aster Bunnymund. He wanted to trace his claws over the writing and watch Jack shiver, wanted to murmur his apologies for taking so long to find him, to tell Jack about three hundred years of desperate searching and bone headed stupidity.

Really, he'd been waiting for Jack all his life, but that might be a bit much to lay on the Frostbite. Aster had been living a good long time, after all.

He couldn't just _tell_ Jack he wanted to see the young man's Name, either. The young man would want to know why, and there just wasn't any good way to explain.

Matters might have stayed that way for decades, except Aster wasn't that lucky.

Someone had to interfere, and unfortunately that someone wasn't a friend.

* * *

The Greek underworld was such a _gloomy_ place. Sharp, yellow teeth were briefly visible in a smile, which vanished as soon as it appeared. It was rather... nice, to be somewhere he didn't stand out.

The paper doll shades lingering on the banks of the river Styx drew back when he neared the dock. He was alone when Charon poled his mockery of a boat near. The shades clutched shadowy coins, payment for their passage; _he_ carried no money, but then, he didn't need it. Such things were for the living- or souls of the dead.

He was alone on the boat, save the boatman, and Charon never spoke. The river crossing was silent but for the infrequent splashing of the pole, and when he got out and onto the dock, the boatman hurried back across to fetch the shades.

The pathway to the judges was a clear one; it skirted an alcove where a giant, three headed beast- dogs were much saner, and had fewer spikes- threatened those that walked by. When he passed it, the beast cringed back, whining in terror.

How nice to be appreciated!

He passed by the judges, with their long line of shades to sort, and they averted their eyes. He was beyond their concern, and he did wonder exactly what they would consider a 'fitting' punishment for him.

Tartarus, perhaps? Struggling to push a boulder up a hill for the rest of eternity? He sneered at the thought. No, the denizens of Hades would not try to keep him below ground, for they were sensible and respected his power.

It was time he regained his place, which was why he had come here. Why he sought out the tunnels that led deeper into the earth, to the chambers where the Oneiroi slumbered. His last attack on the Guardians of Brats had failed; he had forgotten how pliant children were. Show them a drawing on a window, and they would force themselves to believe, a shield in their minds against the realities of the world.

But ah, if he did more than just weaken the fools, if he _got rid of them_ entirely, the brats would have nothing to believe in!

And then, yes, terror would consume the world once more.

He breathed deeply, and hurried down the tunnels until he reached a sprawling, underground garden. The flowers that grew beneath no sun should not have thrived as they did, but in every direction he looked were colorful blooms, and equally colorful butterflies.

The insects did not avoid his hands, and he caught one. It fluttered against the bars of his fingers, not afraid. It did not have enough awareness, not even the awareness of a real butterfly, to fear.

As he held it, the vibrant blues and gold of its wings darkened, until it was the same color as carved jet. The frantic flutter of its wings slowed, and finally stopped. When he uncurled his fingers, the insect sat on his palm, looking like an intricate carving.

"You should not be here."

Pitch smiled again, and turned to look the speaker in the eye. "Hello, Phobetor. You look... well."

The former god snarled, but it was weak, just as he was. His powers had faded, though at least he had fared better than his brothers; Morpheus was nothing, now, and Phantasos had been forgotten entirely.

The last of the Oneiroi moved to block the garden, and the rest of the butterflies. Pitch strong-armed him to the side and into the cavern wall.

"Enough of that," Pitch told him. He blew on the butterfly, still perched on his palm, and it began to move again.

As it flew about the garden, the butterflies nearest it began to change, to darken, and finally, there was not a single butterfly left untouched.

"Your time is long since over," Pitch said. He knelt down beside Phobetor, and tilted the former god's chin up. "Give up."

"You will fail," Phobetor whispered. "You will always fail."

"And why is that?" he asked, amused despite himself.

"You lack conviction."

There was no response Pitch could make; the failure's eyes closed, and he breathed out. Then there was only dust, where there had once been a man.

"Requiescat in pace," Pitch murmured, and called his latest acquisition to him. The butterflies coated him in a living cloak, weightless and motionless. One landed on his upraised palm, and seemed to regard him.

"I have long made the mistake of facing my enemy upon the battlefield," he murmured. "That is not the way of a wise man, outnumbered as I am." He smiled at the butterfly, and laughed. "To sleep, perchance to dream..."

He closed his fingers on the insect, and crushed it. Fragments of black wings slipped to the ground.

"And to never wake again..."

* * *

No slang, so...

Mythology Notes!

The Greeks! I could fill several textbooks (someone already has) on the many, many Greek gods. The ones I'll talk about here are the Oneiroi, the three gods of dreams. Morpheus is probably the best known, being the god of sleep; Phobetor, also known as Ikelos, was the god of nightmares and appeared in dreams as animals or monsters. (His other brother, Phantasos, was less lucky- he appeared in dreams as inanimate objects.)

Butterflies and dreaming is a bit more awkward, mostly because if you Google "Butterfly Dreams" you get porn. Therefore all my "butterfly with sleep" mythology comes from a fantasy book in the Urban Shaman series by C.E. Murphy. In that book, magic butterflies induced sleep, bringing the city of Seattle to a mysterious halt, with one-third of the population (and two-thirds of the police force) unable to wake up. Don't worry, they fixed it and saved the day.

Finally, am I the only one who thought Pitch was being terminally stupid in the movie? When you're outnumbered (and I'm not counting the nightmares as proper backup), it's a bad idea to get in a knockdown, drag out, head on fight with _everybody_. Someone as old and experienced as Pitch has no doubt been on battlefields where things have gone very, very wrong. You'd think he'd have some grasp of tactics.

Such as... if you're outnumbered? Take out some of those numbers, however. There is no honor on a battlefield. Especially not when you're the _bad_ guy.

Oh, and for Pitch's new butterflies? They look like this: http://dailywicca.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/black_butterfly1.jpg

I really need to learn how to do hyperlinks on AO3...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hurt me!
> 
> Next chapter: the problem with butterflies, Sandy knows what's wrong, and Jack brings the killing cold to the Warren.


	10. Chapter Nine Part One

Baby Tooth was a comfortable weight on her shoulder while she directed her forces. Some days- _lower left central, Viterbo, stat_ \- she wanted the company of no one else, just her fairies. Those were generally the days when- _oh, Bonifacio, upper right first bicuspid and both the upper right and left central, same house_ \- she found a tooth that held the memories of finding one's Name.

She'd had a Name, once. _Tortuga, Spain! A school yard brawl, at least two of each! No rum this time!_ Before she had been the Tooth Fairy.

Baby Tooth crooned and cuddled against her neck, feathers rustling against feathers. It wasn't anything like she remembered- _lower right first molar, Toulon_ \- but it was better than nothing.

Nothing was what she had been left with, after all.

Tooth sighed, and shook away the memories. She was happy for her friends, she was, she just couldn't help being a bit... jealous.

Beneath the feathers, her wrist was blank.

It hadn't always been that way.

Baby Tooth took over a minute, long enough for Tooth to wipe at her eyes. Most of the time, she could smile and laugh and admire her friends' teeth, or giggle at the cute picture they made, Bunny trying to loom and Jack crouching on his staff, arguing about something silly...

Other days it was all she could do to get up in the morning. So to speak.

She rarely slept. When she slept, she dreamt, and even those times Sandy controlled her dreams, kept them pleasant, her mind always, always turned to _him_. To dark hair and dark eyes and white teeth, always smiling for her. To warm arms and a loving touch-

It was easier to direct her fairies in the gathering of teeth, the protection of memories. Less painful, too.

_Naples, lower left and right central, accident with a skateboard_. Tooth would shake the mood off, she knew, after she'd had a day or two of work.

Her fairies flying back and forth, delivering teeth to be sorted and tucked safely away, flying back out with quarters, a blur of green and blue that soothed her heart. This was solid; this was why she continued with each day.

She almost didn't notice the flashes of black between her fairies. Baby Tooth chirped, darted off her shoulder to hover and study.

"Oh," Tooth said. "Butterflies." Black butterflies?

They approached her tower- _lower left first bicuspid, Milan_ \- with no particular hurry. They looked familiar. Who was it that used butterflies for communication? One of the older spirits, possibly the Native Americans- oh, yes, one tribe had attributed butterflies to good wishes! But weren't those supposed to be yellow butterflies?

Her fairies flew around the butterflies without trouble, though she noticed they slowed down a little as they went past. She could hardly blame them; they _were_ unusual, weren't they?

Baby Tooth chirped, and neared the first butterfly to reach them. She sneezed, looked back over her shoulder at Tooth- and dropped like a stone.

"Baby!" Tooth dove for her fairy, and caught her just in time. Baby Tooth would have fallen on the floor, but she might have bounced or rolled over the edge, and as light as she was, at this height... No, better not to think about it.

"Baby Tooth?" she asked, lifting the little fairy closer to her face. _Genoa, lower right and left wisdom teeth, surgical operation, hurry up girls_. She was sleeping. "Sleeping?"

Tooth looked up- and a black butterfly perched on her nose.

Immediately she- _upper left second bicuspid, Rome_ \- felt drowsy, and- _lower right cuspid, Marsille_ \- stumbled. She- _Nice, the... the upper left, no, right, the right first molar_ \- thought someone caught her shoulder, lowered her gently- _first bicuspid, left... where?_ \- to the floor... But no, it was a bed, a- _she can't think can't think the teeth_ \- lovely soft feather bed and it felt familiar, smelt familiar, but- _this isn't real there's black everywhere that's not right_ \- she couldn't remember. How odd, she remembered everything. _This isn't happening you're remembering not real._ Warm hands brushed at her hair ( _feathers_ ) and she saw laughing dark eyes and white teeth and ( _no wake **up**_ )-

Gold whipped past her eyes too quickly to follow, and the black shattered.

Tooth bolted upright, wings slashing the air and eyes streaming tears. "What is it?" she yelled. "What are those things?"

Sandy hit a handful of butterflies with a golden flyswatter, and let the crushed remains fall to the ground below. He shook his head, attacked another group with his whips, and waved her back when she moved to help.

Her fairies were stirring; they too had fallen asleep.

"What was that?" she asked. Tooth preened absently at the feathers on her head, and half-closed her eyes to check the rest of her fairies. She had a bond with them that let her direct them even at a distance; they were of her, after all. They were all fine, drowsy, confused, but fine.

She looked up when Sandy floated to her side. "Do you know what those are? Who sent them?"

Sandy nodded, and looked grim. He held up one hand. Santa's sleigh formed above his head, and then an arrow pointing towards the North Pole.

"Good idea. Should we take one to show him?"

The Sandman smiled, and lifted a globe, a net of fine strands, and within sat a single butterfly, its black wings unmoving.

"Then let's hurry. I don't like this, not one bit."

* * *

North's Workshop was always awesome, and being invited to test out some toys? Super awesome.

It turned out the elves had a use after all. Other than making sure no one had to vacuum- drop a crumb on the floor and the place swarmed with the buggers- they tested North's inventions, particularly the toys for the younger children. If a stuffed animal could survive being used as a weapon by a squabbling hoard of elves, then it could certainly survive Annie taking it to pre-school.

The elves couldn't test everything, though. The electronic gadgets North supplied the older children, for example.

"I thought these games were made by, you know, humans," Jack admitted, turning the handheld consol over in his hands. He thought it was something called a 3DS, but that might have only been because Jamie had been ranting about one the other day. Something about improved graphics?

"They are, they are, but also by me." North poked at a PS3, and sighed. "Do not worry, the monies, they go where they should be. Is part of being Santa. But sometimes, you have heard the phrase, no more in stock?"

"Yeah," Jack agreed.

"And so, the parents, they are sad because they cannot be buying the gift themselves, there is no more to be had. And of course they are thinking, this is the magic, that they are the ones buying the present from me, for the little ones. But!" North jabbed one finger towards the ceiling, and leaned back in his chair. "I am Santa! Is my task to be giving children the gifts they are wanting and deserving for Christmas!"

Jack grinned. "The 'oh my god, it's been sold out for months, how did you _get_ this' gift?"

"Yes, attributed to me, and parents, they remember is miracle of online, is costing more than in store but look how child, they dance and caper and somehow, other gifts, they turn out to not be costing as much as previous thinking held, so they do not spend so much as they fear on Santa's present."

Jack snickered at the thought. He could see it, too; parents convincing themselves that they had bought those gifts, because who else could have done it, and look, here's the online bill to prove it.

"Do you ever worry about the yeti and their computer hacking skills?"

North shook his head. "Are good people, yeti."

"Yeah." Jack found the power button for the handheld, and frowned. "Okay... where's the start up screen?"

"Silly Jack, you are needing game cartridge. Turn it off and try this one." North handed over a thin rectangle of plastic and circuit boards. "You test that one, I finish this."

'This' looked to be a five thousand piece puzzle halfway through disassembly. "Who's that for? Not the usual sort of thing I see around here."

"Ja, is for young girl, very serious, very lonely. Into lots of fights she gets, last year would be on naughty list and no gift from me, but..." North eyed Jack sidelong. "Am changing policy. Now, I look at _intent_ as well. Protecting small children by fighting is well meaning, so."

If he'd been anyone else, Jack might have been jealous. North's policy had ensured that the eternal child hadn't gotten any Christmas present for himself; but everything balanced out, and these days Jack had Bunny. "I think that's a good idea," he said, not missing the way North relaxed very slightly. Gee, no, he was trying to be a bit more grown up these days, he wasn't going to throw a tantrum over something that didn't really matter anymore.

Damn rabbit was rubbing off on him, and Jack didn't mean sex.

Well, not only sex.

Not that they'd gotten that far, really, certainly not to 'home base'. Second base, absolutely, sometimes even third. Apparently Bunny liked Jack's cold hands.

He cleared his throat and dragged his mind out of the gutter and back to the game. North, thankfully, didn't seem to have noticed his wandering attention.

The game he was testing was a simple one, a new 'Pokemon' that had been released. "It looks good," he said, after getting bored. There was only so much interest he could have in something that pretty much required him to sit still and squint at a tiny screen.

"Ja? Good, good. Here, try plane and remote."

_That_ was more like it!

Jack looked up when the Workshop's front doors- the ones that were _never_ actually opened- slammed open. He set aside the kinect set he'd been making a robot dinosaur with, and grabbed his staff.

"Tooth? Sandy?"

Tooth immediately flew over to him, and looked around. She didn't seem to see the rumbling yeti working on the toys, or shoving the doors closed again, and the elves had vanished before the crash had finished echoing. "Jack, where's North?"

"In his office." He turned and saw North hurrying towards them. "Never mind, right there."

"Tooth, what is this?"

Sandy floated up to join them, and held up a weird net-ball type thing. There was a carved butterfly, all sparkly black, inside.

"Okay, why is someone's broach being treated like a prisoner?"

Sandy turned and wagged a finger at him. A golden butterfly fluttered around his head a moment, then was 'trapped' like the black one, and went still. The Sandman nodded to his captive, and then pointed at North and Jack.

"I have not seen this before," North admitted. "Jack?" Jack shook his head, and then shrugged.

"There's a type of swallowtail in south-east America that can look black, but that's it. Nothing like that," he said, and nodded at Sandy's captive.

Tooth fluttered her wings. "It was the oddest thing," she said. "A bunch of them just appeared at my palace, and my girls all started to fall asleep, and then when one landed on me I- Sandy woke me up." She closed her eyes, and for a moment looked old. "I think if it had been any longer, I wouldn't have wanted to wake up."

Sandy patted her shoulder, and North pulled her close for a gentle hug. For a moment Jack didn't get it, but then Sandy pointed at Tooth's wrist. Her blank, feather covered wrist.

Oh. Jack touched his fingers to his covered Name, and winced. Poor Tooth.

"Sandy, do you know anything of this?"

Sandy nodded, and looked around. After a moment, he found what he was looking for, and stuck the butterfly, sand-cage and all, into an empty mason jar. Only after he put the lid on did the sand collapse. The butterfly shifted just enough that it didn't land on its side, but went still once again.

Creepy.

The Sandman looked up, and began to form images above his head. Jack didn't get all of it, but thankfully North did.

"You are saying these are Morpheus' butterflies, to make people sleep?"

Sandy nodded, and another golden butterfly fluttered around his hands. Then a sand image of Pitch stepped forward, and touched the butterfly. Somehow, Sandy got his butterfly to turn a darker yellow, though of course he couldn't make it into actual, nightmare sand.

North spat a curse. "Pitch has corrupted Morpheus' butterflies?"

Another nod, and a new image. This one of a nondescript figure. A butterfly, still that dark yellow, landed on his- her? It's?- shoulder, and the figure toppled over in what Jack assumed was sleep, as compared to death. A sand-clock spun its hands around and around, to show the passage of time, and then a cloaked figure carrying a scythe stepped up to the sleeper.

"The butterflies will make people sleep until they're dead?" Jack guessed, and got a thumbs up. "Wait, those things came after Tooth."

Sandy nodded, and Tooth sucked in a breath. "But why didn't they go after you two?" she asked. "Did they go after you, Sandy?"

The Sandman polished his knuckles on his chest, and smirked. He sobered, and pointed at North and Jack, then showed an exterior view of the Workshop, surrounded by heaps of golden snow. Okay, so the 'snow' looked more like sand dunes, but Jack understood what was meant.

"It's too cold up here," he said, with the assurance of someone who had once accidentally killed thousands (okay, so, ten) butterflies by accident. All he'd done was pick them up, wanting to get a closer look, they were just so beautiful... And then his cold hands had killed them.

It wasn't like he radiated cold, like the other winter spirits. At best his temperature could be compared to a human who'd stayed out too long in the snow without their gloves, but not to the point where their fingers were numb. But insects weren't very hardy, or at least insects in the middle of autumn weren't, and after that first year Jack hadn't tried to touch anything without a coat of fur again.

Or feathers, but sparrows were mean and went for the eyes. Snowy owls were pretty cool, though.

And getting off topic, Jack, focus. "North, you should be fine so long as you're up here, and I don't think they'd be able to land on me." He tilted his head and thought about it. "Pretty sure I can make sure they can't, actually."

"And Sandy, you are being immune to this, yes?" North asked.

Sandy nodded, then pointed at Tooth, then himself.

"Oh, that's sweet of you," Tooth said. "But you'll be able to send children their dreams from my Palace?"

He nodded again. For a moment, Jack wondered how Sandy's neck didn't hurt from all the nodding he was doing. Well, maybe he was used to it.

"And Bunny," North said, then frowned. "Ja, he is not here."

And the Warren was _warm_. Jack hissed and twisted around in midair to arrow towards the nearest window.

North grabbed him by the ankle, and held firm when Jack turned and glared. "Portal is faster. We all will go. Come."

Fair enough.

Jack kept both hands on his staff, his grip white knuckled. Of course Bunny was okay, he was ancient and he'd fought Pitch the longest and he was smart and no way he'd get trapped. He'd laugh at how worried Jack was, and hold him close, and it'd be just another reminder that Jack didn't have to worry, Bunny totally had this under control.

It might've been annoying if it hadn't been so damn attractive.

North threw the snow globe, and gestured Sandy to go first. That made sense; of the four of them, Sandy was absolutely immune to the butterfly sleep thing, and Jack was probably immune thanks to his cold, while the other two were vulnerable. Jack went last, guarding the rear. At the very least, he could always blast the evil butterflies with his staff.

The Warren was quiet, only a few of Bunny's practice eggs wandering down near the Color River. One of them was half covered in plaid designs. Nice to know the rabbit was trying to meet Jack's challenge.

"I don't see anything," Tooth admitted. "I mean, nothing black."

"Let's just check over by his home," Jack suggested. "He's probably over there, he said he was going to work on some chocolate without me around to eat it all."

North smirked, and muttered something, but it was in Russian and despite General Winter teaching Jack every Russki swearword in existence, it didn't mean he understood anything else in the language.

Probably, though, the Cossack was planning to raid Bunny's kitchen.

If he shared in the spoils, Jack would help.

They tromped their way over the hills separating the working part of the Warren from the living quarters; or, rather North tromped, everyone else flew.

Jack caught up with Sandy at the front, and held up one hand. "Does anyone else hear that?"

It sounded like... talking. Quiet talking. And not Bunny, either. Of all the times to wish he had Pooka hearing, it was when there were sleep inducing butterflies corrupted by Pitch flying around, and they were checking up to make sure Bunny hadn't gotten whammed by them.

Sandy shook his head, and gestured Jack to go first. He readied two whips of golden sand, and grinned, a fierce baring of teeth that looked wrong on the normally cheerful man.

"Thanks," Jack muttered, and flew up to the crest of the hill.

He went cold with rage at what he saw.

It wasn't only butterflies. There were nightmares, a whole herd (demonic flock?) of them, and _Pitch_. And Bunny, wrapped in so much black sand only his face and feet were visible, snarling and struggling but not getting anywhere.

Pitch was crouched over, a hand under Bunny's chin and the other on the Pooka's shoulder, and he was saying something but Jack couldn't hear it over the roaring in his ears, the sound of Wendigos howling and glaciers cracking and ships tearing their metal sides open on glaciers.

Pitch squeezed Bunny's chin, straightened up, and walked away.

The butterflies and nightmares descended.

Jack snarled, and slammed his staff against the ground.

The Wind shrieked her fury, shot towards the black, edged with ice and sleet and Jack's deadly cold.

Unsurprisingly, the butterflies dropped dead. The nightmares took a little longer.

Jack barely noticed. They were between him and Bunny, they were a threat, they needed to _go away_.

So he made them leave.

"Bunny!" He knelt down beside the rabbit. He was asleep, why was he asleep? The fighting hadn't been quiet, he should've woken up, he was the lightest sleeper Jack had _ever_ met, and he wasn't waking up!

He shook the rabbit's shoulder. Frost turned the Pooka's fur white, and _that_ should have woken him up. It didn't.

North pushed him away, and hissed when Jack's cold immediately bit into his hand. "Let Sandy work," North urged. Jack barely understood him. "Jack! Bunny is asleep and it is too cold! Let Sandy work, and let the air warm!"

Warm? But he _was_ the cold. He needed the cold, because it kept the terror at bay, numbed him to the thought that the butterflies had landed on Bunny and Sandy might not be able to _fix_ things-

"Jack!" Tooth grabbed his arm, and didn't let go, even when ice crystals formed on her feathers. "You won't help Bunny if he gets hypothermia!"

Oh. No, that wouldn't help, would it?

Jack pulled the cold to himself, wrapped it into a tight ball beneath his heart. Bunny could thaw it. That was what spring did, after all, thaw out the winter.

"Sandy?" he asked, turning to look.

He had to stop and blink. Except for a clear circle around Bunny, for nearly fifteen feet in every direction, was a thick layer of hoar frost. Tooth sparkled, though the ice crystals were already melting, and North's face was red and chapped, like he'd been standing in the middle of a blizzard and trying to beat the Wind with his _face_.

"Uh," he said.

Tooth grabbed his shoulders in a quick hug, and North smoothed down his hair. "It's okay," Tooth whispered. "We understand."

Yeah. They probably did.

Jack sucked in a breath, and then another, and then another, watching Sandy trickle gold sand over Bunny's face and shoulders and chest. The frost was melting, he noticed, now that he wasn't pouring cold into the Warren. He couldn't feel the heat, though. He was too cold himself.

Bunny, wake up. _Wake up_.

He watched as Sandy pulled away from Bunny, and waited- but the Pooka didn't sit up. He twitched, his eyelids fluttered, he made guttural little sounds deep in his throat, but he didn't. Wake. Up.

Why wasn't he waking up?

He must have asked that out loud, because Sandy was holding his hands out. Golden symbols flashed; Jack barely understood half of them. They were taking Bunny to the Workshop, he got that, but the rest?

"I don't," he began, and stopped. The Wind ruffled his hair, but she couldn't help. "What?"

"Perhaps the answer is in the library," North murmured. He straightened up, and nodded. "We shall solve this."

He scooped Bunny up in his arms, and Jack barely suppressed a growl. He absolutely wasn't jealous... and it wasn't like he could carry the Pooka anyways. Bunny weighed half again as much as Jack, if not more.

Sandy patted Jack's shoulder, then paused and looked deeply into the winter spirit's eyes. There were no symbols, no words, but this time, Jack understood.

Sandy was the master of dreams and sleep. He was on the job. He _would_ **_fix_** this.

Jack turned to look at Tooth. "Pitch did this." He didn't recognize his own voice.

"And we'll fix it," she promised. "Let's go."

"The Warren..."

"Jack. This won't take long. Don't you want to be there when Bunny wakes up?"

Yes. He did.

Without another word, he followed Tooth through the portal to Santa's Workshop.


	11. Chapter Nine Part Two

Sandy couldn't get Bunny to wake up. North was going through his library, but it was taking too much _time_.

... At least the North Pole was built to withstand blizzards.

Jack didn't think anyone had known, before, exactly how close to his emotions the winter storms were tied. He tried to rein himself in, whispered to the Wind to go easy on things, but there was no calming her, or him. What he _wanted_ to do- fly up into the heart of the storm and give himself over to the violence, the thunder and lightning and hail- wasn't what was needed.

He had never succumbed to that urge before, he'd never had reason. Though he did wonder if _that_ would wake Bunny up.

The way things were going, probably not.

He'd tried staying with the others at first, by Bunny's side, but when the glass of water Tooth had been sipping at froze over (and broke the glass) he took himself off to the rafters, near one of the giant windows. Strangely, the glass wasn't frosted over. Not that it would have mattered, it was impossible to see anything outside but white snow, the occasional rattle of hale, and periodic flashes of green light. It wasn't possible to hear anything, not even thunder, over the scream of the Wind.

Jack looked out the window, imagined he could see something out there, and snarled. If this took any longer, he would leave, and find Pitch.

And oh, would the Nightmare King regret every last dark deed he had ever done, starting from the very beginning.

Jack flexed his fingers on his staff, barely noticing the cramps. He had held onto the wood long enough for the grain to feel carved onto his bones.

Tooth flew up to hover next to him. She checked on him periodically, and he didn't know if it was to make sure he was still there and not crazy, or to make sure he hadn't collapsed into a puddle of grief.

"North thinks we should plan for a confrontation with Pitch."

"Does he know where Pitch is?" Jack asked, voice rough, but calm.

"We have some idea," Tooth admitted. "Somewhere near Mazatlan-"

"Mexico?"

"Yes-"

The Wind tore at the Workshop's roof, screamed her fury at stout construction and puny buildings that dared stand against her. Jack turned to Tooth. "Thank you," he said, and slammed his staff through the window glass.

He flew through the snow that rushed in, accepted the hail hitting his back and shoulders and ignored it. The Wind grabbed him and threw him up, up, above the storm, and then took him south. It was too fast, too high to breathe, but he didn't care. Just sucked in the air he needed in tiny gasps.

Mazatlan, Mexico. He'd never been there. Apparently, it was warm.

Did Pitch think that would _protect_ him?

"How dare he?" Jack hissed, and gasped. "How dare he?"

How dare he attack Bunny? Bunny, who was older than the human species, who had survived everything thrown at him up to now and stood firmer than any mountain. Bunny, who'd lost _everything_ and hadn't given up and _how could Pitch dare threaten that_?

Jack snarled again, and arrowed through the sky. Behind him the storm began to die down, his fury no longer feeding it.

* * *

Pitch wasn't in Mazatlan; he was in the forest just outside it.

Jack hovered at ten thousand feet, pulling, hard, on his control. The flight had given him time to think; that and the near asphyxiation, he admitted to himself.

Pitch was the king of manipulating emotions. Jack couldn't go in there out of control, that'd just be playing into the maniac's hands. What was it his father had always said? Those that charged into battle blindly caught a spear in their guts?

He couldn't get answers from the crazy guy if he was too upset to talk.

So. He'd go in, nice and gentle, and if Pitch tried to play any games... Well. You couldn't kill fear. But you could sure hurt it.

The others probably wouldn't agree with his methods, but he. Didn't. Care.

Jack sucked in a deep breath, and let himself lower to the ground.

Pitch was waiting. Of course he was. Drama llama that he was, he'd probably planned out this confrontation. What was he thinking, that the others had been taken out by butterflies? Surely he knew, or at least had guessed, that Jack was death to insects whether he wanted to be or not. He had to have planned for that.

Unless this was just a fly by the seat of your pants _stupid_ attempt to get back for his defeat earlier in the year.

"Pitch," Jack said. His voice sounded funny again, thick and slow. Huh, so _that's_ how he sounded when furious and trying to control it.

"Hello, Jack. Fancy meeting you here." Pitch looked around, and fondled a green leaf. "It being so warm and all."

Was that why Pitch had run to Mazatlan? Because he thought the heat would, what, cripple Jack?

The more fool he.

"The butterflies. What did you do?"

"Those?" Pitch fluttered one hand in dismissal. "A neat little trick I picked up from a... hm. Co-worker? Not _quite_ the right word, but it will do I suppose..."

Jack hissed, and narrowed his eyes. "Tell me why Bunny won't wake up."

"Only the rabbit?" The Nightmare King actually pouted. "No one else? How disappointing."

"Tell me." Jack supposed he was the only person who could hear the creaking ice.

It would break. He knew it would.

And he knew what was locked under the ice.

"I'm afraid I don't feel like it, Jack." Pitch turned his back, and laughed. "And what are _you_ going to do? You're here, alone. Face it, my young friend-"

_Enough!_

The trees in Mexico had never developed to handle the cold. It hadn't even hit forty below when the first gunshot-like crack rang out, and splinters sliced through the clearing.

Pitch jumped, and flattened back against a tree. Jack grinned at him, and touched his staff to the ground. Frost raced across the grass and dirt and wrapped around Pitch's measly shelter, sank deep beneath the bark.

The explosion didn't throw Pitch very far, but it'd take the Nightmare King a bit of time to dig those splinters out. It'd have to do.

"Pitch?" Jack walked forward, heard cracking ice with every step. He placed the butt of his staff against the man's throat. "I am not your friend. And you will tell me what you did. _Now_."

Diamond dust settled on Pitch's face, his robes which were white and stiff with frost. His eyes were wide and blank, mouth half open and working like he was trying to talk, but not managing a single sound.

Jack pressed a bit harder down on his staff, and raised one eyebrow.

Pitch spluttered, long fingers skittering through the stiff and dying grasses. "The rabbit?" he finally said. "You- the _rabbit_?"

Bunny, who had somehow ended up as important to Jack as fun and games. More. More important than his own core.

"Yes," Jack said, the howls of the damned just beneath his voice. "The rabbit. Who. You. Hurt."

He smiled, teeth glittering in the sunlight. "Now why don't you tell me what you did to him, hm? Before things get... messy."

"You cannot-!" Pitch cut himself off when Jack began to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"You don't get it," Jack said, and sighed. His hands were shaking, and he wanted to press down and watch and he wasn't going to do it. Not yet, not unless Pitch kept stalling. "I am winter. And Pitch?" He bent closer. "The only things that go together better than cold and dark? Is cold and _dead_."

Pitch swallowed, Adam's apple flexing beneath the staff.

Then he began to talk.

* * *

The flight back to the Workshop was much less frantic than the flight out had been. Jack's heart pounded none the less.

Sandy could take the information and use it, fix things. He could. Pitch had done this, so Sandy could undo it. And if Jack told himself that enough times, he'd even believe it.

Pitch had slid off to hide again. He'd want his revenge on Jack for the fright, no doubt, but that didn't matter. Whatever happened- well, like he'd told Bunny. The next Wendigo that showed up, totally the rabbit's fight. Pitch counted as a Wendigo, at least with this sort of thing.

Jack's rage was gone, leaving him a hollow shell with only the dregs of fear left. The Wind whistled to him, as soothing as she knew how to be, but it didn't help. Seeing Bunny wake up would, but first he had to tell Sandy what he'd gotten out of Pitch.

Not that the Nightmare King had wanted to tell everything, but Jack had been... persuasive.

At least the forest would be fine. There'd be hardly any damage, really; trees were amazingly resilient even after having their trunks blown out, and grass grew fast down in warmer temperatures.

The terrain below him got harsher, then white. He'd reached the North Pole; it was only a few more minutes at this speed until he reached the Workshop.

He did wonder, a little, why no one had chased after him when he'd left. Or tried to find Pitch. Unless Sandy had succeeded and Bunny had woken up?

Hope _hurt_. Jack flew a little faster, and felt like his heart was bleeding.

He saw the yeti working on the outside of the Workshop first, and winced. The storm had done some damage. Not as much as might have been done to, say, a human building in a similar situation, but the repairs were clearly necessary. Especially the window, already boarded up.

He landed with none of his customary grace next to Phil. "Sorry," he murmured. "I... Just, I'm sorry."

The yeti grumbled, and patted Jack's head with a hand the size of a dinner plate. Then Phil pushed him towards one of the many side doors that let off the Workshop.

Jack slunk in, but no one noticed him right away. The yeti still inside were trotting back and forth, half of them still working on toys and the other half working to repair the damage done inside the building. He swallowed, and headed towards North's guest quarters. Bunny would be there, he supposed.

He was right. The room was closest to North's office, which he should have suspected. The curtains were pulled open, no doubt so they could keep an eye out for his approach, while watching Bunny at the same time.

Sandy was still working on Bunny, though he'd slowed down since Jack had last seen him several hours before. Someone had put an IV in Bunny's arm; it showed that they didn't think there would be any immediate solution. They were probably right.

Jack knocked on the door, and swallowed when everyone (except Bunny, who was still twitching and _whimpering_ , now) turned to look at him. "Uh, hey."

"Jack!" Tooth hesitated less than a second before grabbing him in a hug, and he couldn't blame her. The frost covering his shoulders was still pretty thick, though at least he'd warmed up some. Not comfortable to hang onto long, as she proved when she pulled away, but better.

"I'm sorry we didn't follow you," she said quietly. "I thought we should, but North thought it was something you should handle on your own."

Jack nodded. "I think it was. For one thing, I found out that I-" He forced himself to finish, even if he didn't want to. "Well, Pitch is going to be staying under for a while, unless he can heal really fast. It got... really cold."

Tooth nodded, her eyes very wide. "I see. Well. Come in, don't just stand in the doorway. What did you find out?"

Jack walked over to Bunny's bedside, and brushed the back of one limp hand. "Sandy... Pitch said he trapped Bunny in his worst nightmare. That he used... What was his name, Phobetor's powers?"

Sandy hissed, the first sound Jack had ever heard the little man make. When he turned to stare, wide eyed, Sandy was flashing what looked like Greek letters at North, who nodded in reply.

"You are correct, my friend, that answers those questions. I know just where the book is, it will take me no time at all to bring it back."

"Uh, huh?" Jack asked, and sat cross legged in the air where he was.

"I think I know what you're talking about," Tooth said to Sandy. "Correct me if I'm wrong- Phobetor was a Greek god credited with nightmares. The three gods responsible for dreams and sleep used butterflies. They're really before my time, though. I think I heard rumors that, if a mortal _really_ displeased them, they cursed them to sleep until... dead."

Jack caught his breath, but the anger didn't surge forward like he'd expected. A brief flutter, yes, the faint desire to go track Pitch down again and beat the man's face in, but that was it. Going after Pitch wouldn't help anything now. It wouldn't even make him feel better.

Sandy nodded, and patted Jack on the shoulder. Letters formed from sand: _There is a solution_.

Jack closed his eyes, and sighed. "And that's why North went to get some book?" he asked.

"Yes, Jack," Tooth murmured. She rested her hand on his shoulder; it felt heavy enough to press him to the floor and through it, though he didn't so much as dip in the air.

There was a solution. Sandy would fix this. Bunny wasn't going to sleep forever and die.

If he'd had the energy, he would have cried from sheer relief.

Jack heard North's footsteps, and opened his eyes just as the man walked through the doorway, cradling a leather bound monstrosity that could only be called a tome.

"I believe I have found the chapter you are thinking of," North said to Sandy. He put the book down on the end table, and opened it to somewhere near the middle. Jack watched them study the pages; there was a lot of nodding, and from North at least, humming.

Sandy flashed several images at North, too fast for Jack to even try following. North nodded in reply, then turned to look at Jack.

"So, there is solution. Is slightly tricky, Sandy cannot do it alone. Will you help, Jack?"

"Me?" He looked between the three of them. "What can I do?"

Sandy waved one hand, to ensure Jack was focused on him, and then formed an image out of sand. It looked like Bunny, lying flat in bed like he was in real life. Beside the Bunny image was a Jack image, and it laid down next to the Bunny figure. Then a Sandy figure, which drifted over the Jack image, and dusted golden sand over him. Then, somehow, the Sandy figure reached down and pulled a translucent Jack figure out of the lying down one, and the translucent one went into the Bunny image. After a minute, the translucent Jack figure stepped back out of Bunny and back into the solid Jack figure, and the Bunny figure woke up.

"That... almost made sense," Jack admitted. "What...?"

"Dream walking?" Tooth asked. Her feathers puffed out. "That's-"

Sandy held up one hand, and smiled sadly. He nodded at Tooth, then made his three (four?) images go through the motions again.

"You're- you're sure?" Tooth asked, her feathers slicking down. She looked at Jack; he managed to find the energy to stand up. Tooth looked like she was going to _cry_.

"Tooth?"

"Oh, Jack," she whispered, and hugged him.

"Is this dangerous or something?" he asked, automatically wrapping her arms around her back, careful of her wings. "You know I will, but- oh, Tooth, don't _cry_."

"It's... It's fine. Just memories," she said, and pulled back. "Well. The sooner we get started, the sooner Bunny will wake up."

"Sure," Jack agreed. "If someone would just tell me what I'm going to do."

North looked down at Sandy, and cleared his throat. "Do you know anything about dream walking?"

"No."

The Cossack nodded. "So. Bunny is trapped in nightmare, and because of Phobetor's power Sandy cannot break curse, not from outside. Curse must break from inside, but Bunny, he doesn't know he dreams. Someone must therefore go inside and break it for him." He paused, and regarded Jack. "Is highly personal, highly intimate, to do this. Is why we say you, because you and Bunny already very close, difficult to get any closer."

Wow, he was embarrassed they were talking about it. "I guess."

Despite himself, he touched his wrist, and swallowed. A pity Bunny's handwriting wasn't anywhere near as chaotic as the black ink. He'd checked, hoping for... Well. Nothing that'd worked out after all.

North couldn't have looked any more pitying if he'd tried. "You will lie down, and Sandy will send you to sleep, then help your spirit cross from your body to Bunny's. What he dreams, we do not know, but you will have to deal with it yourself. When the curse is broken, your spirit will return to your body, and Bunny will wake."

That sounded simple, except for the part where Bunny wasn't dreaming, but having a nightmare. But Jack would deal with that when it happened. What could he possibly be dreaming of, dogs chasing him everywhere?

He refused to think about the things Bunny had told him, about losing his entire species, fighting in the war, a loneliness so crushing he had slept several thousand years straight just to get away from it.

Sandy gestured to the bed, and Jack felt himself blush. Sure, he and Bunny might be in a relationship, but Bunny wasn't the type to make public displays of affection... And honestly, neither was Jack. It was just too weird, like purposefully stripping naked because even if he stood in the middle of traffic, no one would see him.

Still, he settled in at Bunny's side, automatically turning so his head was pillowed on one furry shoulder, and his arm draped over the Pooka's stomach.

He felt Sandy's fingers brush through his hair, and then the slightly fizzy feeling of the sand settling on him.

And then, he slept. And dreamed.

* * *

No slang! And so:

_ Nature Note: _

Trees exploding because it's just that cold out are actually a thing, but it takes one heck of a cold snap. From my research, you're talking seventy below by Fahrenheit, and fifty below Celsius, more or less. At least for northern trees, who the hell knows for southern breeds. I'll be honest with you, I've never heard of it happening to anyone I know. (I've obviously never had it happen to me, because I have this allergy to something called 'the wilderness'. Any time I try to leave the internet behind I swear I break out in hives.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this two part chapter killed me. Just so you know. And I'm still not entirely happy with Pitch in THIS chapter, but you know what, I'm dead.


	12. Chapter Ten

_This is_ your _fault!_

_Oh stars- Aster help me!_

_Make it stop! Make it stop make it stop makeitstop!_

There _you are, you filthy rabbit._

(There are howling beasts, like dogs but worse, and his heart races as he runs and runs and he can feel their breath at his back and their teeth snapping at his heels)

_Poor, pathetic little Pooka... Do you want to know how they died?_

_"Damn it, Manny, and damn you! He's gone! He's gone and_ how dare you save me! _"_

_Aster! They're breaking through! We've got to-  
Dembe!  
No, leave him, he's dead!  
He's still _ screaming!  
 _Aster no, don't! Get back here, you can't do anything!_

(There is a song, and it is beautiful. It is the souls of his people and it is falling silent by ones and twos and hundreds and _he can't save them_ )

_Tie him down tight, gentlemen... Wouldn't want you to run away. The Nightmare King wants you, but he never said in one piece..._

Jack can hear the screams of the dead and the dying. He can hear Bunny, howling in pain, in fear, in rage and grief and no, it's too much, he has to _do something_

He slams his staff against the ground that isn't there, and calls the Wind.

It shouldn't be possible. This isn't a real place. There is no Wind here.

But it comes.

The Wind drowns out the pain and the sorrow and the fear. It numbs the rage and grief with its chill. And when Jack opens his eyes, he is in a field.

The ground is flat, in every direction he looks. There is grass, but it is brown and dead. There are no trees. There is no water. The sky is gray; clouds, he thinks, though he cannot be sure. The air does not move.

This is a dream. He remembers that, remembers that it is not his dream, but Bunny's nightmare. He cannot think why a flat, dead field would be threatening, but there is no denying the chill he feels. He sniffs the air- perhaps it is a scent? But there is nothing to smell, not even the dirt beneath his feet. He turns in a circle.

He feels unseen eyes on his back, and wonders if this is how people feel around him. Adults, those children who don't believe. Can they feel him as an unseen watcher, like this?

He hopes not. It's a decidedly uncomfortable feeling.

"Bunny!" he calls. His voice is flat, here, and he can barely hear himself.

Jack tries to fly, but nothing happens. He calls the Wind, but she does not answer.

So. Walking.

He has no direction, but he refuses to stay in one place. The land is featureless, and it is impossible to know if he's going in a straight direction. His bare feet leave no tracks in the dirt, and if the grass turns to powder when he steps on it, well, that does not stand out so very much in this place.

He calls, periodically, for Bunny. He is never answered.

In the way of dreams, time passes strangely. He doesn't know if he has been walking only for minutes, or for hours, or for days. He feels nothing; only the faintest of senses that there _is_ ground beneath his feet. He doesn't get tired, or hungry, or thirsty; the light does not change. He is neither too hot nor too cold, though it would take liquid nitrogen for him to feel the latter.

After a time, Jack begins to think that Bunny is not here, in this dead field. Only Jack, and the watching eyes.

There is a curse, he remembers. Surely it would be resistant to being broken. Might this be an attempt to keep Jack away from Bunny, from the true nightmare?

Jack lifts his staff, and slams it against the ground.

The Wind comes, and carries him away.

When she leaves, he is in a forest. It looks like pictures from a museum, of giant ferns when the dinosaurs lived. These fern-trees tower over him; their fronds appear to be covered in a thick carpet of pine needles. The bark looks rough, with edges sharp enough to draw blood. He doesn't touch the trunk nearest him to test the appearance.

He is not alone here. It is dark beneath the fronds and the fern-trees crowd together so closely the many trunks block him in. He can see, perhaps, three or four feet in any direction, though there is so little light he can barely see at all. He can hear, though; footfalls, and heavy breathing from every direction. When he sniffs the air he can smell things. The scent of the fern-trees, he thinks, strangely bitter, and the heavy musk of a predator with rank breath.

He does not wait to be attacked. Jack lifts one hand to his mouth and blows across his fingers.

The killing cold comes to him. The air itself cracks and freezes; he hadn't noticed the humidity. Frost, and more than frost, slashes across the fern-trees. In an instant, each trunk is covered in a hand's width of ice. There is snow falling under the fronds.

The trunks begin to explode, and out of sight but not out of hearing, he hears predators falling over dead.

Then the Wind comes without his asking, and carries him away.

When she leaves, he is in the Warren.

It is day, he thinks, but the light is strangely dim. The grass is yellow, the ground is parched. The Coloring River is... gone. Jack's eyes widen at the sight; there are only rocks painted pastel colors, the paint itself has dried away.

He walks towards the living quarters. They have never been anything fancy; walled caverns with doors and windows looking out over the egg fields, a way to ensure additional privacy in an already secretive place.

The walls have caved in. Jack doesn't approach, but he thinks he sees frost on some of the rubble.

He turns to the tunnels. There the ground is littered with shattered eggs, yolk and melted chocolate puddles making walking hazardous.

Jack finds a sentinel egg, but it is broken. He has never seen the inside of one before, and he pokes at the various, shattered gears that have been scattered across the ground.

Bunny is not here. Jack closes his eyes and calls to the Wind. He needs to find Bunny.

The Wind comes, and when she picks him up she is screaming in anger. She sets him down, and leaves, but he can still hear her scream.

No. That is not the Wind. It is something else, enraged and despairing, that he can hear.

He looks around, and he is not in a field, or a forest, or the Warren. He is in no place he recognizes.

It was beautiful, once.

This place is a valley, dead now, but he can imagine how it looked; lush and green, a river flowing through the middle. To his back is a cliff, and he knows, without looking, that there will be homes carved into the once-living rock. Most of those homes, he knows, have collapsed in on themselves. The rest will be empty.

The river that should be there is dry; the thousands of different plants are dead and dust. The ground is rust red, the color of dried blood and iron. The sky is a washed out blue, and though it is bright enough to be midday, there is no sun.

Bunny is not hard to find, in this place. He is hunched over on a jut of rock, a ledge that once overlooked the valley. He clutches something to his chest, but Jack cannot see what it is.

Here, at least, he can fly. The ground is covered in shards of rock. Jack does not want to touch them.

The closer he gets to Bunny, the more he can hear. More than just the scream that is not the Wind. A low, throbbing sound, that makes him think of mountain roots anchoring the world, or old trees with branches that hold up the sky. But the sound is hesitant, grief slowing the notes and pain making them stutter and jump.

He can hear other things too. Bunny, yelling orders in a fight and begging for the torture to stop. Others, too, begging _Bunny_ for help, screaming as they die, and the voices of the dead accusing him- of cowardice, of not wanting to save them, of failing them.

There are yet more voices, and in this, Jack can hear himself. There are insults, there is contempt, and there is laughter _at_ a person instead of with. He can hear North tell Bunny all the ways Christmas is better than Easter; Jack knows that North means such things kindly, a joke of an argument between two old friends, but even the friendliest joke can find a bruise.

He hears himself say things that he's only thought before-

_I don't **need** your help, I don't **want** your help, and what makes you think **you're** going to rescue me? I've got this!_

-but less, since becoming a Guardian.

He wonders what it says, that Bunny imagines Jack's resentment, and despairs.

Well, he can admit to himself, he'd be upset if Bunny snapped at him, too.

Jack waves the noise aside, and lowers himself to the ground just behind the Pooka.

There is silence, between them. He doesn't know how to break it. Perhaps it is for the best that he doesn't have to.

"Three hundred years," Bunny says, his voice rough. "Not even a drop in the bucket, considering how long I've looked for you."

Jack tightens his hold on his staff. "Your entire life," he says.

Bunny told him Pooka didn't have Names. The fur would have gotten in the way, he'd said, and laughed. But, Jack thinks now, there must be other ways, yes? It cannot only be humans with a name on their wrist (or a song in their hearts?)

He thinks about Bunny telling him about the music he heard Jack's emotions as. He listens to the screams and sobs. He listens to the music, the rage and the grief.

"I left you alone." Bunny's head somehow hangs lower. "I should've found you right off and instead I let you die. I let you think no one wanted you."

Jack closes his eyes, and listens to the music. "What could you have done?" he asks, finally. "When I was human. What could you have done?"

The Pooka doesn't move. He doesn't answer. Jack isn't sure he's even breathing.

"You cannot take responsibility for my actions on your shoulders," he says. "It was my fault, dying. And I came back. It was my choice to travel the world. I know you, Bunny. You would have tried to follow me. But you had your duties."

The low throb of grief pulsed, the entire world reverberating with it. The rage shrieked louder, a blizzard descending to wipe out an enemy.

Jack...

-stood in a field, snow swirling around him, already a foot thick on the ground-

-stood in a forest of fern-trees, trunks exploding into deadly splinters, ice covering everything-

-stood in the Warren, eyeing a lone, sated nightmare, staff at the ready-

-stood between Bunny, strapped to a table, and a torturer-

-stood over Bunny, staff raised to block Pitch's sword, teeth bared in a snarl-

... stepped forward, and touched Bunny's shoulder.

"Come away from the edge?"

Bunny looked up, and sighed. "Might as well."

Jack let the Pooka lead the way down off the ledge, towards the cliff. What had once been part of a garden wall served them as a seat.

He tried not to be disappointed when Bunny didn't look at him. No, the rabbit stared at whatever it was that he held to his chest.

"Bunny, how long have you heard my emotions as music?"

"All your life."

For some reason, the rage screaming defiance turned gleeful. It almost drowned out the susurration of voices, the ceaseless sounds of war and torture and accusations and lies.

"And how long have you loved me?"

Bunny breathed in, a pained, shuddering sound. "All your life." He looked up then. The fur on his face was wet with tears. "Your song was so beautiful. It is so beautiful."

"I made it very hard for you to find me, didn't I?" Jack asked.

Bunny... froze.

The grief paused, a horrible gaping hole of noise that was immediately filled by worried rage and remembered pain. The rage tore at the hole-

And hope came back.

Jack clenched his eyes shut. Tears slipped down his cheeks anyways... and a furry thumb wiped them away.

"You don't hate me for it?" Bunny asked.

Jack opened his eyes and smiled. "I could never hate you, Kangaroo. Might want to dump you in the Atlantic now and then, but I'd fish you out. You know, when I got tired of listening to you bitch about the cold and the salt and the sharks."

"Sharks are evil," Bunny muttered.

"No they're not!" Jack sang back.

Bunny...

-waded through snow, eyes confused and lost but understanding starting to dawn-

-skidded past a dead beast, exhausted, bleeding, but smiling-

-threw a boomerang just as the nightmare dodged a blast of snow, and laughed when the weapon found its mark-

-tore free of the leather straps, already throwing the first punch at the man who had cut into him-

-snatched up Jack's staff from the ground and smashed the crook into the side of Pitch's neck-

... laughed, and lowered his hands.

It was a flower. It was white, and it looked a little like a daisy, but daisies were smaller, with fewer petals. "It's an Aster," he said. "Well. My home world's version of it. What I was named for, there was a field right outside my parent's front door..."

He looked out over the wreckage of what Jack thought had once been his home. "It's gone now."

"My father was the blacksmith," Jack said. He ignored the look Bunny- Aster- gave him. "They needed a bulldozer to finally move the anvil. Then they put a shopping mall where my village used to be. The parking lot, I think."

He turned to look at his Pooka, his Aster. "It's not the same. But I understand."

The song of hope strengthened, tempered by old grief but not weighed down by it. The rage- did not ease, precisely- but gentled, twining around and through the hope, the two songs harmonizing.

"Aster?" he asked. "What's that music?"

"Us."

_And then there is a shout without words, a warrior-scholar shattering the chains of black sand that had trapped him. Finally, rage becomes joy, and the two songs are, for one perfect moment, a single melody._

* * *

Jack kept his eyes closed, his muscles limp. He was awake, but so very tired. Emotions could take it out of you.

Aster finished murmuring to someone- by the lack of response, Sandy- and then Jack heard a door open and close.

"Here now, Frostbite, we're alone. You can stop faking sleep, yeah?"

Jack's lips twitched, and he looked up. "How'd you guess?"

Aster merely brushed his claws through his hair. "What do you remember?"

"It's confused." He lowered his head to Aster's shoulder again. "I think we were talking? But I also remember fighting."

His furry pillow heaved with a deep sigh. "The nightmare trapped me in all my worst memories, and imaginings, at once. I was alone, or good as. Then suddenly everything was getting covered in ice and snow. And we talked."

"There was music." There still _was_ , which was... different. "You worried me."

"Got that from Sandy. His sand might not be the most effective medium to tell a story, but you looked upset."

Jack smirked, and wiggled closer. "There might have been thundersnow and exploding trees. You know, the usual "Jack loses his temper" shtick."

"Hardly subtle, mate." But Aster's arms tightened around his shoulders, so... not upset. All good.

"Yeah, well." A few more details were trickling back, though granted, not many. Even the most lucid of dreams tended to be confusing when you woke up. "Is your name really Aster?"

"Yup. E. Aster Bunnymund, and no, you can't know what the E stands for."

"Mr. E, huh?" Jack's smile faded slightly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He felt Aster shift, but didn't look away from his up close study of Pooka chest fur. "Mate, when have you ever called me 'Bunny'? It's a nickname. And..." Aster sighed, and nudged a finger under Jack's chin. He looked up. "Been a long, long time since anyone's called me that. Might be I won't remember to answer."

"If you ignore me, I'll get you with a snowball," Jack promised. He sighed, and scrambled to sit cross legged beside Aster. "I think we need to talk."

The Pooka couldn't hide his nerves completely. "Yeah? About?"

"This is weird, I'm looming over you like this. Sit up." Of course, the moment Aster did, Jack moved to cuddle up in his lap. "There, that's better."

"Ulterior motive, should've guessed." Aster sighed, and rubbed his chin against the top of Jack's head. "What're we talking about?"

"In the... the dream. You said you'd looked for me forever, and loved me since I was born. How does that even work?"

He sighed again, and picked up Jack's left hand. "Mate... Humans have a Name, yeah? But Pooka, we... I... hear you as a song. I hear your soul, your emotions... you."

Jack watched as his sleeve was rolled back. His arm glittered white with frost. "That sounds like a better method," he said. His breath absolutely didn't catch when Aster's claws traced across his wrist. "I mean, writing is just... whatever, right? But someone's emotions... So that's how you fell in love, then?"

"I'll admit, I wasn't at my best three hundred odd years back." There was a pause, in which Jack concentrated on not pulling away from the gentle touches on his wrist. "You make me happy."

"Right back at you, rabbit."

"It doesn't bother you, Frostbite? I could hear you, but... Well, having a bunch of ink on your wrist doesn't tell you anything."

Jack closed his eyes, and sighed. "Considering how long you _couldn't_ hear me... my Name doesn't matter."

Aster stiffened, and both hands clutched Jack's arm. "What do you mean, doesn't matter?"

"I mean, I love you, E. Aster Bunnymund, not squiggle-squiggle-flower-drunken wiggly line." Jack looked up at his rabbit's face, and grinned. "You know, I think you'd look less surprised if I'd smacked you in the face with a fish. A three week dead one."

Aster scowled at him. "Hah, hah. Didn't realize we were at the exchanging sweet nothings part of the relationship yet."

"Well, you _did_ say you've loved me all my life!"

"... Squiggle-squiggle-flower-drunken wiggly line?"

"It's a good thing your handwriting's much clearer."

Aster sighed. "Wasn't always, mate." He paused, and stared down at Jack's frost covered wrist. "Can I see?"

What could it hurt?

Everything.

But... The Name wouldn't change anything. Jack loved Aster, the Easter Bunny. If he finally found out what the Name meant, so what? He wasn't going to go chasing some stranger.

It took seconds to banish the frost on his right arm. It took a bit longer to clear it off his left.

A line became visible here, a flower there, and the drunken squiggle that always made him want to squint. He had to turn so his back was against Aster's chest, otherwise the Pooka wouldn't have been able to read the writing.

Aster traced his claws along each line, each loop, each flower petal. Finally he said something in a language Jack had never heard of before (except, he realized, in a shared dream. Apparently they hadn't been talking in English, news to him.)

"That's how you say my name in the old language," Aster said, as matter of fact as explaining snow was cold and Easter was a better holiday than Christmas. "And this is how you write it."

"It's your Name?" Jack tilted his head back. "You're my Name?"

"Yeah." Aster cleared his throat. "Well. Good to know it's not a one sided bond."

Jack stared at his arm, and finally rolled his eyes. Of course Aster was his Name. It just figured, didn't it? "Guess I can stop covering my arms in frost now."

"Ah, might be something else, too." Aster rolled Jack's sleeve back down, then just held him gently against his chest. "Since we're not a one-sided bond. Something Pooka can do. With our, our life forces. I could tie them, with us."

"Would I be able to feel you the way you can feel me? The whole psychedelic empathy thing?"

"It's music," Aster muttered. "Not psychedelic anything. But yes. You'd be able to hear our Heartsong too."

Heartsong, huh? At least there was a nice name for it. "Is this like a marriage proposal?"

"Only without need for a dress, a minister, or bachelor's night out."

"That'd be good, 'cause I refuse to have a hen's night."

Aster began to laugh. "Is that a yes?"

"It's an about time, slowpoke. I thought kangaroos were supposed to be fast." Jack leaned his head back against Aster's shoulder, and grinned. "Got any more surprises for me, bun-bun?"

"Only good ones," Aster promised. "I think you'll like them."

Yeah. Jack thought so, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to follow.
> 
> I'm sorry, the dream refused to stay in one single tense, if it happens to confuse you I'm so very sorry.


	13. Epilogue

"Are we going to need a nursemaid?" Jack looked up from his stack of leaves (just where the kids had gotten this idea from, he didn't know) and eyed Aster sidelong.

"What now?" Aster's ears started to go back, and one paw went down to cradle his- her- _God_ but this was weird- slightly rounded belly. There was a dangerous glint in his- _her_ \- eye, and Jack hastened to elaborate.

"Sophie's volunteering her youngest. Or maybe it's babysitting. You can't really write that good on an leaf." He waved the offending bit of greenery, which was not only looking wilted, but somewhat maimed. Ballpoint pens, eesh.

"A sitter, maybe." Aster turned back to his- _her_ \- work on one of the many eggs wandering around. "Kids still sending messages by leaves?"

Jack's response was inarticulate, and probably could have peeled paint off walls. "I don't know how they even end up down here!"

"Kids believe you'll get them, so you do. How long have you been a Guardian now?"

"Shut up, Roo, you know just how long. It's stupid. And I'm not breaking the rules to give the kids a snow day in _July_." He eyed the stack, and considered freezing it solid. "Never mind what weirdness Mother Nature's been getting up to."

"Not her fault, mate." Aster smirked, and caressed his- _her_ \- stomach. "Oi, I know just what you're thinking there," he- she- snapped. "I _told_ you, its better if I make a full shift instead of just bits and pieces."

Honestly Jack didn't see why; the Pooka didn't look much different as a female than as a male. Other than the obvious with the pregnancy, that is. "You sound weird," he grumbled. That was a safe complaint.

Not that he minded, honestly, it was just- kind of weird how Aster could just switch genders with some concentration and a couple days to adjust to new plumbing, so to speak.

Even if it did mean they could have kits.

They went back to their work, Aster doing some gentle prep work for Easter twenty-sixty-seven and Jack sorting through his 'mail'. He'd already gotten Cupcake back for the leaf thing; the kid had gone on to write children's books about the Guardians, professionally, and had put in her latest that Jack Frost could be contacted by leaf. She'd spent the entire winter with a car almost permanently iced over. She'd apologized, he'd grudgingly accepted and stopped messing with her vehicle, and then the leaf mail had attacked.

He found an actual letter tucked into the pile, and happily stopped trying to decipher crayon scribbles and marker misspellings.

"It's from North," he said, when Aster looked up. "Inviting us over... Huh. Someone squealed, we're being invited to our own baby shower, Fourth of July."

Aster grinned, all blunt teeth and irritation. Pregnancy was wreaking its usual sort of havoc, though in this case morning sickness was traded out for vertigo. It made moving faster than a walk occasionally difficult. "Wonder who told."

"Not me. You said not until six months, I said absolutely." He looked the letter over again, then passed it over. "He'll offer us yeti workers for the nursery, probably."

Aster's one eyebrow twitched. "Or _that elf_ as a helper with the kits," he- she- muttered darkly.

"It did stop trying to eat the sentinels," Jack murmured.

"I'm still not taking it off his hands."

Jack grinned, and instead of his leaves, he turned his attention to the Song always at the edge of his awareness. Despite Aster's general irritation, it was bright, and content, and he wanted to bask in it like a cat in the sun.

And faintly, just under the duet that was his Song and Aster's, were three little melodies, just beginning to form.

Life, he decided, was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this concludes the story Listen to your Heart. Normally I'd write something about how I'm sorry it took so long, but then normally it takes a couple months for me to write a story this length. Not only did the characters kidnap me, but I had the time because I've been out of work.
> 
> But no longer! This story has been my good luck piece. Immediately after posting the first chapter, I was called for an interview. As of today, and posting this last chapter, I am now employed in my field and will have much less time on my hands.
> 
> I want to thank everyone who reviewed and gave kudos, because I believe the good vibes only helped. Also, your comments made me grin and dive for my keyboard to write more, so there's that too.
> 
> And finally, because I had so much fun writing Listen to your Heart, I'm going to be doing another meme fill. The title so far is Little Boy Blue. The first chapter should hopefully be up in a week or two. It was nice writing for you all and I hope you'll take a look at the next story.


End file.
